


Broken Chains, Mended Heart

by ScrivenerofMyth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Adorkable, Awkward Romance, Dirty Thoughts, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gentleness, Humor, Lemon, Matchmaking, Meddling Friends, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Some game dialogue, Survivor Guilt, Vulnerability, well-meaning friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 142,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrivenerofMyth/pseuds/ScrivenerofMyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen left the Templars to join the Inquisition in an attempt to earn redemption for his past. When the Divine's conclave is destroyed by an explosion and a mysterious yet beautiful stranger is rescued from the crater, Cullen fears his chance of redeeming himself is all but lost. Soon enough, however, the Herald of Andraste proves not only to be a clever and talented ally to the Inquistion but a caring friend and confidant to its Commander. Struggling with regret, lyrium withdrawal, and his emotions, Cullen must decide whether to obey the call of duty or his heart. Can our handsome, adork-able Commander reconsile his past and build a future? Can he survive his many well-meaning friends and family's attempts to help him finally find love? Only time will tell...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sky Torn Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> I began writing this fiction because, as I played through the game and romanced Cullen, I began to wonder how he might have struggled with falling in love with a mage. I've always liked his character and, although Bioware mentions his ordeal at Kinloch and we see a bit of the pain that caused him, I felt like they really left a great deal out. I've attempted to remain as true to the main plot line of the game without rehashing it too much. But I will also say there will be quite a few additions, some new, original characters as well as emphasis or expansion of minor character's roles (primarily Rylen) because this is my attempt at a "perfect head canon." At any rate, I hope you enjoy this slow burn, smutty piece of literature.  
> Comments are always welcome!  
> Cheers,  
> Scrivener of Myth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a pitched battle for their very survival, Commander Cullen and the Inquisition's army struggle to keep the demon horde pouring out of the Breach at bay. Meanwhile, the mysterious woman who fell out of the Fade wakes up. Upon meeting her, Cullen is surprised to find himself drawn to her rapier wit and beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.
> 
> Edited 2/17/16 to add digital painting of Cullen.

Haven, Drakonis 5, Dragon 9:41

Cullen Rutherford stood on the icy path that led up the mountainside to the Temple of Sacred Ashes or, more accurately, what remained of it. He could feel his lungs burning as he swung his sword repeatedly, slicing through the demon horde as it bore down on him and his men. He called out over his shoulder, telling them to tighten their ranks, wincing as sweat trickled into his eyes. _Will this never end_ , he wondered as he slammed his shield into a Despair Demon’s face.

Since the explosion at Divine Justinia’s Conclave, which killed everyone save a sole survivor, chaos had reigned supreme. Demons had been pouring out of the torn Veil above Haven, now simply known as the Breach, for the last three days. Cullen along with Sister Leliana Nightingale and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had done their best to rally the Chantry’s forces but, in truth, they were just barely keeping the hordes of demons at bay.

Over the last 72 hours, their forces had noted the violent tear in the sky had been expanding at an alarming rate. Some believed it would eventually bring an end to the world. Cullen had to admit, it did feel like the end of days and, if they didn’t get help soon, they’d be overrun.

He sensed someone advancing on his flank and before he could turn to assess the danger, he heard Sister Leliana’s voice, “Commander, I’ve come to relieve you. Seeker Pentaghast requires your attention in the Chantry.”

Cullen growled under his breath, “This had better not be something ridiculous like attending to some blighted noble’s complaints over having to sleep in tents, Sister Nightingale!”

“I assure you, Commander, it is not,” she replied though her voice sounded far away. He glanced toward her to see her drawing a bead on a demon down range. As she loosed the arrow, which he saw hit the demon square in the skull immediately killing it, she turned to him and said, “it is regarding the survivor. We have new information and the Seeker would like your counsel.”

“Very well,” he muttered, turning to his men to instruct them to follow her until he returned.

“You should also get some rest, Commander,” she reminded him, downing another three demons with a single arrow. Cullen chuckled wryly and shook his head in wonder at her skill with a bow. Unable to let an opportunity to tease her slip by, he fixed her with an appreciative look and let loose a snarky retort.

“Now you’re just showing off,” he said.

“Don’t change the subject,” she said. Leliana straightened, her tone a mixture of glibness and warning. “You need rest.”

Cullen snorted and rolled his eyes and fixed her with a look of annoyance. Secretly, he knew he was indeed nearly exhausted, but he wouldn’t admit that, certainly not to anyone and most definitely not to Sister Leliana. He let out a sigh of frustration and, being nearly to the point of being too tired to care, let his sharp tongue get the better of him. “Demons don’t need sleep, Leliana.”

“But you do,” she said. Leliana’s grey eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly for a moment and she shifted her weight ever so slightly. She was a master at masking her emotions and intentions and, had he not been working with her for the last few months, he’d have missed the signs that she was becoming frustrated. “You’re no good to me dead, Commander.”

“As you say, Sister,” he said. Cullen sighed in resignation, realizing there was no arguing with her. As he retreated, he helped his men where he could; protecting a flank here, slashing through a demon there, and rescuing wounded as he found them.

By the time he reached the bulwark, exhaustion was weighing heavily on him. The guards helped him inside and, as he was bustled toward the command table, someone pressed a canteen of water into his hand. It was Knight-Captain Rylen.

“Good to see you in one piece, Commander,” Rylen said. The gregarious Starkhavener grinned, and clapped him on the shoulder in as much a greeting as it was relief to see him.

“Indeed,” Cullen said. As his trained eyes scanned the activity ebbing and flowing around him, Cullen opened the canteen and took a deep draught of water. _Maker, that felt good_. Satisfied everything seemed well in hand – Rylen was his second in command for a reason, afterall – he turned his attentions to the reason he was here. Wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand he nodded toward Haven. “Has the prisoner woken?”

“Not yet,” Rylen said, “though I’ve heard it said the Ambassador has finally discovered her identity.”

“Oh?”

“T’would be best if you heard it from the Seeker, Commander,” Rylen said. His second’s voice had dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial tone, and Cullen watched as he shifted his weight – as if he were suddenly uncomfortable about the topic of discussion – before meeting his gaze.

Cullen studied his long time friend’s face for a moment and, seeing only deep concern writ there, he clapped him on the shoulder and thanked him for the update before striding off toward Haven proper. Somewhere along the way, one of his aids pressed the reins of a horse into his hand and he thanked them, swinging into the saddle and putting his heels to the steed’s sides.

There was only one reason he knew Cassandra would call him off the mountain. The prisoner had to be a mage. He sighed to himself, a feeling of uncertainty welling in his gut. He had to admit, he didn’t know much about the situation other than the prisoner had been a woman and that his solders reported she’d stepped out of the fade and collapsed, unconscious shortly after the explosion. Perhaps he was wrong, it’d been known to happen after all, and perhaps she wasn’t a mage. Perhaps Cassandra had other concerns or the woman’s family was requesting her transport home. _Not likely_ , he griped. _Maker knows we don’t have enough to deal with as it is_.

His mind wandered as he rode. All sorts of strange events had coincided with the appearance of the Breach to include the appearance of an elven apostate named Solas, joining their forces under the guise of wanting to help. Cullen suspected the mage had been drawn there by the appearance of the Breach or had some ulterior motive with regard to the wild magic surging forth from the Veil.

Also, at some point, Cassandra had informed him that the prisoner bore a strange, magical mark on her left palm. Although he hadn’t seen it for himself, he’d been told that the mark had striking similarities to the tear in the Veil. And, unfortunately, it, like the Breach, had begun to spread. Solas reported it was, in fact, spreading every time the Breach expanded and it, like the tear in the Veil, would soon kill the prisoner just as the Breach would soon extinguish the world.

Cullen reached the Chantry in short order and was greeted with a very chaotic scene. Many of the faithful had gathered in Haven to support the Divine’s efforts to barter peace between the mages and templars, who had been at war since a rebel mage obliterated Kirkwall’s chantry, killing everyone inside. Since the explosion, those pilgrims who weren’t killed by the explosion or the demons were left stranded in Haven. Many now huddled inside and around the chantry, praying and crying as the Breach sparked and roiled above them.

A young soldier ran up and took the reins of the horse from him and Cullen nodded his thanks before stalking off to find the stairs that led to the cells beneath the Chantry. He’d been told the news of the prisoner being a mage had already circulated throughout the crowd. Even now as he walked among them, he could hear people blaming her for Divine Justinia’s death. Cullen knew that if she ever awoke, there was a very high chance she’d be executed by a lynch mob.

He tripped tiredly down the well-worn stone stairs to find Cassandra standing at the bottom, locked in deep conversation with the elven apostate Solas. Cullen cleared his throat as he approached and Cassandra looked up to fix him with a steely gaze. She quickly relaxed realizing it was him and welcomed him in a somewhat tired voice, “Ah, Commander. I am glad Sister Nightingale found you. We have much to discuss.”

He arched a brow as she led him to the cell door; by her tone, this sounded far more ominous than Leliana had let on. The guard turned to unlock and open the door for them, standing aside with a crisp salute. He nodded to the soldier and followed Cassandra inside. He was a bit surprised to see such a large cell for one person and immediately noted two guards as well as two templars stationed in each corner of the room.

In the center of the room a young woman, whom he guessed was no less than twenty-five, lay sprawled on the floor. Her hands were chained and he could see sweat beaded on her brow. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to her left hand and the mysterious green glowing mark. He watched as it sparked and spat eldritch energy – much like the Breach itself – and with each outpouring of power, the young woman winced and twitched in pain.

His brows knit together at the sight of her. She was clearly in a great deal of pain. He turned to Cassandra and asked, “Is there nothing we might do for her?”

“Solas informs me he’s done all he can to stabilize the mark,” she replied grimly.

He knelt, grabbing a wet cloth from a basin nearby and wrung it out before moving to kneel beside her. As he drew near, something gave him pause. A familiar tingle sparked across his skin. As he reached to wipe the young woman’s brow, he felt the lyrium in his veins begin to hum and then _sing_ , which caused him to freeze in his tracks. His earlier thought had been correct. His eyes snapped up to Cassandra and he asked, “Sister Leliana said there was something you wished to tell me?”

“As you’ve astutely sensed, she is indeed a mage,” Cassandra replied. The Seeker crossed her arms in front of her, her expression much more grim and sober than usual. And that was saying something even for her, the avatar of seriousness. With what little of the situation he knew coupled with Cassandra’s unsettling revelation, he deduced he wasn’t brought here to discuss the finer points of shepherding an unconscious mage. Cullen chose his words carefully now, glancing over his shoulder to look up at her as he spoke.

“You think she’s responsible for the explosion,” he said.

“Possibly,” Cassandra said. She sighed, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side as she collected her thoughts. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone ominously hinting the news she had would not cheer him. “Though that is not why I called you here.”

He glanced back down at the woman for a moment, noting how pale she looked. She bore no other injuries that he could see and, from what remained of his Templar abilities, he could sense she was not possessed. She grimaced again and cried out, the mark on her hand sparking violently. Cullen moved to steady her and, as the worst of the tremor passed, he gently wiped the cool cloth across her brow. He wished there was more they could do to help her, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, doubt over her potential guilt lurked like a wolf stalking its prey.

As her breathing leveled out, Cullen sighed and tossed the rag back into the basin before pushing to his feet. The pain behind his eyes was throbbing now – just being near someone who could wield magic was driving his withdrawal to a maddening level – and he felt his irritation rising. He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment then turned to address Cassandra. “What is giving you pause, Seeker?”

“Ambassador Montilyet has discovered the identity of our guest. She is Lady Mnemyn Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi sent to the Divine’s conclave as her Circle’s representative.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had to be a very skilled and trusted mage to be chosen as her First Enchanter’s representative. Cassandra continued, “She was accompanied by several other delegates: two younger mages and two Templars, one of whom was her cousin and a very well respected Knight-Captain.”

His mind whirled. He had heard this family name before. He turned it over several times in his mind, dredging through nearly forgotten mnemonics in hopes of trying to recall what he knew of the Trevelyan clan. Suddenly, he managed to dredge up an old memory, his eyes widening slightly at the information and he shifted his gaze to Cassandra once more. “Her family is one of the pillars of Ostwick, are they not? Very devout. Most of the second and third sons and daughters serve the chantry.”

Cassandra nodded tiredly. “Yes that is correct. Her father, Bann Trevelyan, remains an extremely pious supporter of Divine Justinia. He has already pledged funds and supplies to our cause…”

“You’re concerned how the Trevelyan’s will view us holding her for questioning,” he said. “Right now, we have more important things to worry about. She’s in no condition to confirm nor deny any hand in the explosion, Seeker. The best we can do is wait until she’s recovered should we survive that long.”

The apostate, who’d remained silent throughout he and Cassandra’s conversation, stepped forward now, his hands clasped behind his back. “I believe the mark on Lady Trevelyan’s hand is the key to closing the Breach.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen said. Solas fixed him with what could only be described as an icy glare. Clearly he’d been stung by Cullen’s disbelief. The mage narrowed his eyes and, when he spoke, his voice was nearly as frigid as the look he’d just given him.

“I would not jest, Ser, over something so important.”

“She’s unconscious,” Cullen said, “What do expect to do? Drag her up there and, what? Point her hand at the sky?”

“Solas wishes to bring the healers to—”

Cullen pursed his lips in an attempt to bite back his rising anger. “You want to revive her—the woman who _might_ be responsible for murdering the Divine?”

“That mark may be our only chance at survival, Commander,” Solas said. Cullen looked up to see the other man’s face set and grim and the conviction reflected in his eyes made him pause.

Cullen sighed heavily, bowing his head for a moment as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t deny them a chance at survival he knew. But this entire scenario seemed desperate at best. Had they really come to this point? Hanging their hopes on some unknown mage from far-flung Ostwick who happened to bear a magical mark that _might_ be their salvation?

After a moment of consideration, Cullen realized he supposed it had come to this and let out a heavy sigh of resignation. He turned to fix Cassandra with an intense look, ensuring she knew he did not like this plan of action. “I want _at least_ two Templars stationed here while the healers work to revive her, Seeker.” When Solas looked as though he would balk, Cullen turned to fix the mage with a sharp look. “For the healers’ protection as much as hers and _yours_ , Ser.”

This seemed to mollify the cranky elf and Cullen turned to follow Cassandra into the hall. He glanced back at the young woman one last time before turning toward the stairs. “I’ll be in my tent should you need me, Seeker.”

“If I require anything, I shall call on Knight-Captain Rylen,” she said, “as you require sleep, Commander.”

There was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked him to the stairs and, from the firmness with which she spoke, he knew it was a declaration that brooked no argument.

“Yes, yes,” he said tiredly. Shaking his head, he turned to trudge up the worn stone treads and into the Chantry proper.

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, Cullen retreated to his tent. If he did not at least get an hour or two of sleep, he knew Leliana would not allow him back onto the mountain. He sighed tiredly as he removed his armor, depositing it into a tidy pile at the foot of his cot. As he settled back into his bedroll, he found his thoughts drifting back to the prisoner. Her pale, pained expression was the last thing he saw as he drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, he heard someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and, as his vision swam into focus, he saw Knight-Captain Rylen standing in the flaps of his tent. He dropped his head back onto his pillow and groaned. “How long have I been out?”

“Eh, not overlong, Commander,” Rylen said. Cullen scowled as he recognized the hesitation in his voice. He watched as Rylen began rubbing the back of his neck while he steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. _So now she’s got Rylen fibbing to me, lovely_ , he groused. _Maker take your blighted good intentions, Sister._

Cullen grunted and rolled out of his bunk, pushing to his feet. He had to steady himself for a moment as the blood rushed to his head. “How long, Rylen?”

“About six hours, Ser,” Rylen mumbled.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Cullen hung his head in defeat for a moment before turning to grab his breastplate. As he and began to pull it into place, his fingers automatically working to secure the myriad of buckles which held it in place, he continued his tirade. “I told James not more than three—”

“Seeker Pentaghast threatened to have him permanently assigned to latrine duty if he obeyed you, Commander. She said you needed your rest.”

Cullen groaned and glared at the tent wall as he continued to buckle himself into his armor. He knew his fellow advisors meant well but sometimes they could be incredibly irritating and just a tad overbearing. He supposed it didn’t matter now and he had to admit, he did feel a great deal better.

“Where is the Seeker now?”

“Interrogating the prisoner, actually,” Rylen said. His second turned and ducked his head, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth as he tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn.

“She’s awake?” Cullen said, incredulous. Rylen nodded and handed him one of his vambraces.

“Yes, Donnell and Gregory oversaw the whole thing as you requested, Commander. Gregory said the healers were able to revive Lady Trevelyan, though it took some effort.”

“When?”

“Nearly a half hour ago,” Rylen said. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the chantry before continuing. “Donnell said he heard the young lady swear she has no recollection of what transpired.”

Cullen snorted. “Convenient.”

Rylen shrugged and affected a look of uncertainty. “I suppose it’s possible. T’is not my place to pass judgement on her. That ball is squarely in the Maker’s court.”

Cullen made a thoughtful sound as he wrapped his usual sash burgundy and gold around his waist before buckling his belt over it. Testing the weight distribution of his sword in its scabbard, he frowned and reached to slide its frog into a better position. “You’re right. And I have little time to worry about such nonsense. I have work to do.”

“Indeed, Commander,” Rylen said with a salute.

“You, on the other hand, will go get six hours of sleep. I need you fresh; something’s about to happen. I can feel it.”

Rylen, for his part, didn’t seem terribly surprised by this order though the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable when he answered. “Aye, Commander.”

Several messengers and runners met Cullen as he emerged from his tent. He listened to each in turn, scribbled a few notes on the documents they proffered, and barked a few orders before stalking off to find his horse. He needed to relieve Sister Leliana as soon as possible. In addition to that, he needed to see what the state of the valley was in. He hoped not worse than before he’d left it.

Soon, someone had pressed a fresh canteen and the reins of a horse into his hands and he was charging off into the frigid mountain air. It stung his cheeks and made his eyes water but he rode on as fast as his mount would go. Within moments, he had returned to the bulwark and one of his aids briefed him on the situation as he walked toward the gates.

“Very well, instruct the second regiment to come up and relieve the third. Ensure what remains of the first regiment is fed, their wounds tended, and that they are properly rested. Knight-Captain Rylen will be responsible for bringing them up at 0600.”

“Yes, Commander!” The young man saluted and ran off.

Cullen turned to the guards and ordered the doors open. Soon, he was fighting his way up the mountain toward the front line once again. As he crested a particularly steep embankment, he saw Leliana perched in a makeshift sniper’s nest.

“Good evening, Commander!” Leliana said. Her halloo floated down from her perch and Cullen watched as she turned to loose four arrows in rapid succession, downing her targets with ease.

“Showing off again, I see,” he said. Teasing Leliana was a delightful and often rewarding sport and one which he participated in as often as he could muster. Still grinning, he turned to slam his shield into a pair of advancing demons.

“I am far too much of a lady to do such a thing, Commander,” she said. She was also grinning and he watched as she nimbly clambered down to meet him.

Just as she’d reached the ground, he saw a Rage demon melt out of the ground. Thinking quickly, he spun into action and charged toward Leliana. She, too, had caught sight of the demon and, with some nimble footwork, managed to duck behind his shield as he deflected a particularly wild gout of flame.

“I see we’ve gained some ground,” he said. Was it odd, he wondered, to be carrying on a conversation so casually as they waited for the flames to die down? He supposed not, his memory drifting back to his Kirkwall days and watching Hawke and Aveline carry on much the same way. He felt a pang of remorse—or was it longing?—for his old acquaintances and he wondered where they were and if they were okay.

Movement on his left flank dragged him from his revelry and he watched as Leliana nimbly rolled and shot several arrows into the demon’s body. Grinning, he whirled and finished the beast, stabbing his sword into its skull. As it began to disintegrate, he shot her a wry grin, “Nicely done, Sister.”

“I live to serve, Commander,” she said. She was smiling, her grey eyes dancing with mischief as she flourished a small bow. He smirked and shook his head, stabbing his sword into the snow so that he could wipe the sweat from his brow. As Leliana shouldered her bow she fixed him with a serious look. “What news of the prisoner?”

“Awake, actually. Cassandra is interrogating her now.”

“Alone?” she said. For the first time in, well, ever, she sounded surprised. Cullen looked up to see she was not bothering to hide neither her incredulousness nor dismay at the news. This was new. Leliana was always so…controlled.

“Yes, why?”

“Cassandra is not known for her… gentleness, Commander,” Leliana said. From her hesitance, he could tell she’d chosen her reply carefully, her gaze flicking toward Haven briefly.

“Then it’s fortuitous I came to relieve you,” he said. Retrieving his sword from the ground, he rebalanced it in his hand and made ready to take the field once more.

As Leliana nodded and turned to drift down the slope, he remembered something and, half turning, he called to her over his shoulder. “The next few hours may prove to be our worst. I’d advise you to get some rest where you can.”

He watched as Leliana shot him a smirk and nodded, clearly amused he’d thought to use her earlier warning to him against her. “I shall take that under advisement, Commander.”

He nodded as she retreated down the path behind him and then made ready to assist the second regiment’s relief efforts. Thankfully, the changeover went rather smoothly. Even the wounded had been taken from the field with few incidents.

Sometime later, while he was working on devising a flanking maneuver in an attempt to take back some more lost ground, a messenger ran up and caught his attention. Ordering one of his Lieutenants to step up and take over for a moment, Cullen extracted himself from the fray. Moving quickly, he closed the distance between himself and the nervous messenger.

The young man, who looked barely fifteen, stood panting at attention as he waited to be acknowledged. Cullen stabbed his sword into the earth and held his hand out for the missive. He sighed as the boy meekly placed it in his palm and shot back to attention. If they survived this, he’d have to discuss battle conditioning for the messengers with Sister Leliana.

_Commander,_

_Keep the path to the Temple as clear as you can. We are bringing the prisoner post haste. Solas says we must close the Breach now if we are to survive._

_–L._

He sighed and dismissed the messenger, turning to light Leliana’s note on the puddled, flaming remains of a Rage demon. Letting the ash float into the air, he turned and began to rally his troops up the mountain pass toward the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Though he knew he had to buy the Seeker and the Nightingale as much time as he could, he found this new gamble questionable at best. How he’d keep up a sustained assault on the oncoming horde with so few troops and so near the main source of demons, he did not know. _Andraste watch over us_ , he thought.

Sweat trickling down his brow, he fought onward. Minutes felt like hours. His shoulder ached, his feet frozen, and, Maker, it felt as though the pain behind his eyes could kill a gurn in one shot. To make matters worse, the lyrium in his blood sang and roiled as he fought on. Soon, his and body and mind joined in, demanding in unison that he give it more. He sighed and drew in a deep breath of frigid mountain air and began to recite the benediction under his breath in an attempt to drown out his withdrawal.

Just when he felt as though his limbs would fail, Cullen heard Cassandra shouting somewhere over his shoulder. He was engaged with several Despair demons and, as he finished dispatching them, he turned to see her flanked by Solas and Varric Tethras, the dwarf the Seeker had dragged along from Kirkwall. Behind them stood the young woman from the Chantry’s cells. It was then he realized the rift, which he’d kept at his left flank, was gone.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed close the rift?” he said. Breathlessly, he flicked demon entrails from his sword before sheathing it and moved to greet Cassandra. “Well done.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” she said. She tipped her head to the side, indicating the woman who stood at her back, and admitted, in a tone that passed as amusement for even her bone dry humor, that she had no hand in the rift closing. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

His gaze turned to Lady Trevelyan, or at least that’s what he thought Rylen had said her name was. From where he stood, she seemed about a half-head or so shorter than he. Her raven hair, which he’d last seen splayed across the Chanty cell floor, was now neatly pulled into a long braid down her back.

He felt his pulse jump as she smiled at him. She was just as beautiful, if not more so, than when he last laid eyes upon her. Though now, he was struck by the vividness of her intense blue-green eyes. Almost the shade of the sea near the shallows, he thought suddenly. Realizing a few seconds had passed he resumed his usual semi-scowl. “Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve risked a lot of men getting you here.”

“You’re not the only one hoping that,” the woman quipped sarcastically.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” he said. He allowed a slight grin to tug at the corners of his lips, signaling his amusement. Judging by her mildly sarcastic remark, she seemed rather quick witted. Forcing himself to look at Cassandra and feeling just the tiniest bit odd for flirting on the field of battle, Cullen refocused himself on the task at hand. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra said. She turned to fix Lady Trevelyan with a concerned look and, in return, the young woman nodded and hefted her staff as made ready to leave. Satisfied the mage and their other companions were ready, she turned back to regard him with a grave look. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you—” Cullen began to say. As he was speaking, his eyes met with Lady Trevelyan’s once more and he felt all the breath rush out of his lungs. She was rather breathtaking, he thought before managing to regain his train of thought. “For all our sakes.”

Without another word he turned and began helping the wounded down the hill. Cullen and his men fulfilled their promise and kept the demons from over running the Temple crater. It was in the Maker’s hands now.

A scant forty minutes later, he saw a streak of green energy blast toward the sky. A moment later, a shockwave nearly knocked him down. Shielding his eyes, he looked toward the Heavens. The clouds roiled and swirled but the Breach itself seemed calmer than he’d ever seen it. He let out the breath he’d been holding as he realized the prisoner had done it. She’d sealed the tear in the Veil.

He half turned and called out to his soldiers, rallying them onward. They roared and cheered in response, raising their swords to the heavens in triumph. Filled with hope and a second wind, they turned to fight with renewed purpose.

Twenty long minutes later, Cullen shouldered his way through the gathered throng around the Temple crater. In the center, he saw several Templars standing guard. He soon spotted Cassandra and Solas knelt within their protective circle with the young woman lying motionless at their feet. Cullen blinked, his heart suddenly clenching in his chest. Had she died? He felt a surge of grief and demanded to be let through.

The crowd parted and he hurried down into the crater. As he approached, he called out to Cassandra. “Seeker, is she—?”

“She is alive,” Solas intoned quietly without turning.

“Merely unconscious,” Cassandra said solemnly. “We believe using the mark overwhelmed her.”

Several scouts hurried up with a litter and, as they sat it down, the Templars knelt to assist them in transferring the mage’s limp body onto it. Cullen watched as they carried her away. He felt a growing unease settle into his gut.

Without warning, a wave of vertigo washed over him and he stumbled slightly, clutching his head. A hand steadied him, which he was greatly thankful for, and when he opened his eyes he saw Cassandra watching him closely. He nodded, signaling he was all right and mumbled, “I’ve over exerted myself, nothing more.”

She scrutinized him a moment longer and then nodded in return, satisfied by his answer. “I will attend to our guest. I suggest you get some air, Commander.”

He was about to balk and saw her frowning at him in a most annoyed manner. Firmly, but not unkindly, Cassandra said, “Let Knight-Captain Rylen handle the cleanup operations.”

“Very well, Seeker,” he sighed, turning to find Rylen in the crowd. After he’d relayed Cassandra’s order, he retreated down the mountain at a moderate pace. By the time he’d reached Haven, most of the cheering had subsided and he retired to his tent. It had been an extremely trying three days and, although he was loathe to admit it to Leliana or Cassandra, some rest was in order.


	2. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen struggles with lyrium withdrawal, a headache, and his growing attraction to the mysterious woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

_Haven, Drakonis 9, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen emerged from his cabin in Haven early the next morning as he usually did. Often, if he was working late into the evening, Cullen would spend his nights camped with his troops. Though there were evenings he craved the warmth and comfort of the lodgings Lady Montilyet had assigned him, and he spent those in relative, if not Spartan, comfort.

As usual, almost no one was out at this hour save the small number of roving sentries and guards he had posted around camp. Because of this, he usually noticed anything new or out of the ordinary right away. This was the case this morning. Two guards stood posted beside the door to the cabin adjacent to his own – the one he knew Lady Cassandra inhabited – which he found terribly odd.

When he investigated, the guards informed him that the Seeker had given up her residence so that the prisoner could afforded lodgings more in line with her station; Cullen smirked realizing that this was more Lady Montilyet's doing than Cassandra's. The Seeker had also thought to assign Haven's in-resident physician and alchemist, Adan, to watch over her.

Curiosity got the better of him and Cullen went inside to see how the young woman fared. Inside, he found Adan sleepily writing something in a journal. The gruff alchemist looked up and nodded to him, "Commander. I assume you're here to see our resident sleeping beauty?"

Although Cullen wasn't surprised to find he wasn't the only one who'd found her attractive, he was a bit taken aback at Adan's use of such an open display of affection to their prisoner. "I, uh, yes. How is she?"

"A bit touch and go last night," Adan nodded toward her prone form, "thought we almost lost her there for a bit. Fine now, though. Well, if fine amounts to 'doesn't appear to ever want to wake up'. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if she never did. Not after what the Seeker said she'd been through."

"I see," Cullen murmured, his brow furrowing.

"D'you mind sittin' with her while I go grab some fresh hot water, Commander? My assistant won' be in for another hour at least. Won' take but a moment."

"Not at all," Cullen replied moving to stand at the foot of her bed.

Adan nodded and left without another word leaving Cullen alone with his thoughts and their unconscious charge. After a few moments, he sighed and sank down in the chair at her bedside. For lack of something to do, he picked up the notes Adan had made on her condition.

 

_Vain hope: Someone better at this than me takes over before the survivor expires. Notes in case._

_—Day One—_

_Clammy. Shallow Breathing. Pulse over-fast._

_Not responsive. Pupils dilated._

_Mage says her scarring "mark" is thrumming with some unknown magic._

_Wish we could station a templar in here, just in case._

 

As he sat the notes aside he saw her wince in her sleep and then cry out as the mark on her hand sparked green energy. Cullen shot to his feet and reached to steady her as she thrashed, clearly in a great deal of pain. After a few tense moments, the spasm subsided and she fell back, boneless against the bed once more.

Cullen let out the breath he'd been holding and checked to see if she'd injured herself. After a quick and somewhat awkward inspection of her person, he determined she had not and slowly rose to stand. He stayed at hand, however, he felt fearful that she could experience another attack at any moment. As he stood there, he seemed to truly see her for the first time and was struck by how incredibly beautiful she looked.

He blinked at this sudden realization and hastily stepped back from her bedside, nearly tripping over the chair which sat behind him. Just as he was recovering, Adan nudged the door open, teakettle and mug in hand. He paused in the doorway, appraising Cullen with a curious look.

"Did somethin' happen while I was fetching water, Commander?"

"The mark…pulsed?" Cullen stammered, unsure exactly how to explain what had transpired. He frowned and added, "It seemed very painful. She, ehrm, flailed a bit."

When Adan looked at him in surprise, Cullen snatched up the alchemist's notes and crossed the room to hand them to him. Pointing to the passage that discussed the mark sparking, "It was certainly different behavior than you annotated before."

Adan hastily sat his mug and the kettle down on a nearby table and, as he did so, it clanked against the reagents that sat there. His hand shot out to ensure nothing toppled over before retrieving the notes from Cullen. He stared at the notes and then glanced past Cullen to look at the prisoner. "I—well, thank you, Commander. I shall note that in my log."

Cullen nodded and said, "I noticed you mentioned you wanted a Templar present, I can have one stationed here if you still wish it."

Adan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Cullen wondered if Cassandra's rather colorful and brusque way of doing things might have something to do with the alchemist's behavior. Adan seemed to think it over and then responded, "I—well, yes. T'would be wise, I think. Better safe than sorry."

Cullen nodded, "Indeed."

He turned to take his leave but found himself pausing in the doorway, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Lady Trevelyan. She was grimacing in her sleep once again and beginning to thrash, clearly from the pain the mark was causing her. He furrowed his brow and glanced to Adan, who was already rushing to attend her. "If her condition changes in any way – especially if it worsens – send for me."

The alchemist nodded, his expression deeply guarded, "Of course, Commander."

Cullen made his way to the training yard where he was greeted by Rylen, "G'mornin', Commander."

Cullen nodded and took the stack of reports his second in command was offering him without a word. Rylen walked alongside him in companionable silence for a few paces before asking, "Is there somethin' botherin' you, Commander?"

Glancing up from one of the reports, Cullen frowned as he thought of something to say. After a moment he sighed and glanced back toward Haven proper, "They've moved the prisoner into the empty cabin beside ours…"

"I thought those were Seeker Pentaghast's accommodations?" Rylen's eyebrows rose slightly.

"She opted to vacate them so we might have somewhere to keep our…guest near at hand to the Chantry," Cullen explained.

"Is that a bad thing, Commander?"

"No, I—suppose not," Cullen admitted hesitantly. He went back to reading his reports before adding, "I—well, I went to see her. She's in a great deal of pain."

"An' no wonder," Rylen nodded, sitting down a stack of reports, "that mark, whatever it is, is magic unlike I've ever seen. Things like that are inherently dangerous. Maker watch over her."

"We don't know where it came from," Cullen reminded him in a firm tone, signaling that was the end of their speculation on the matter. He glanced down, scrawled a few lines of text across the bottom of the report he'd been working on, and turned toward the training yard. "It matters little now, until the prisoner wakes, we have no new information on what transpired in the temple. We should focus on assessing the fitness of our remaining forces and care for our injured."

"Of course, Commander," Rylen nodded, crossing his right arm over his chest in salute, "Shall I go gather the reports on the wounded?"

"Yes, thank you," Cullen nodded, dismissing him. When Rylen had gone, Cullen let out a deep breath. His mind kept wandering back to the grimace the prisoner had made when he'd visited her earlier. Will she survive, he wondered. Was there anything they could do to make her more comfortable?

He had to focus very intently to keep his thoughts from straying to the prisoner throughout the remainder of the day. He relented only once, sending a messenger to find out if there'd been any change in her condition. When the young man returned, he gave Cullen a note from Adan which read:

 

_—Day Two—_

_Pulse normal, breathing normal._

_Still unresponsive; careful drop-feed of prep. elfroot extract to hasten her recovery._

_A lot of thrashing. Mutters about too many eyes. Something about "the grey." Encouraging?_

 

Cullen thanked the messenger and dismissed him. This was not the news he'd hoped for and he knew he had to find something to occupy his time or else he'd wind up looking in on her again. It bothered him to some degree that he was so concerned about a woman he barely knew.

With a sigh, he marched out into the practice yard, drawing his sword into his hand. Cassandra was already there and was in the process of systematically destroying a practice dummy. From where he stood, he could see the frustration practically radiating off of the Seeker. At least I'm not the only one irritated by this situation, he thought as he hefted his shield. Centering himself and drawing a deep breath, he took up an offensive stance in front of a dummy opposite her and began to work out his frustration.

Cassandra threw in the towel sometime around dusk and encouraged him to do the same. He thanked her for her concern and told her he had a lot on his mind. With a shrug, the Seeker departed and made her way toward the Chantry. As he watched her retreat up the hill, Cullen wondered if she were going to tell Leliana to come fetch him later or if he'd be so lucky to be left to work out his problems for once.

As the moon began to rise, Cullen felt his muscles beginning to protest. He supposed he'd been out in the yard for four hours now. He paused to take a much-needed drink from his canteen, glancing about the training yard as swallowed the icy water. All of the recruits had long been dismissed and he imagined many of them might even be in their bedrolls.

Sheathing his sword, he paused to catch his breath before making his way toward his cabin. As he climbed the low hill that led to the dwellings, he saw Leliana was waiting for him in the shadows. She was leaned up against the bulwark, smirking at him.

"I assume you're here at Cassandra's behest?" he quipped as she wheeled smoothly to fall into step with him.

"A good bard never reveals her sources, Commander," she teased, "I'd have thought you'd know that by now."

"Ah, well," he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck, "I shall endeavor to remember that, Sister Nightingale."

"What troubles you, Commander?"

He drew to a stop, resting his on the pommel of his sword as he regarded her with a mildly annoyed look. When she crossed her arms over her chest, clearly signaling she would not relent, he sighed, "This situation with the prisoner, I suppose."

"I'll admit," she said as she turned and slowly meandered up the path, her hands now falling to clasp behind her back, "I do find it odd myself. Cassandra confessed not even she is not sure if Lady Trevelyan is guilty…"

"Really?"

"I know, I was shocked as well," she replied, laughing softly. When he stilled at her side, she turned to study him in quiet contemplation. Finally, she asked, "And yet I sense there's more that bothers you, Commander."

"If she killed the Divine, why did she stay to help us?" he reasoned quietly

"She was unconscious and awoke in chains," she retorted, "had I woken in such a predicament, I'd would have done the same. Perhaps she is biding her time in hopes of escaping."

"No, I don't believe this is the case," Cullen shook his head. Off her questioning look, he continued, "You didn't see her on the path to the Temple ruins. There was… compassion—and conviction in her eyes. I do believe she genuinely wanted to help."

"Cassandra said something similar," she mused, pursing her lips for a moment, "The Seeker also mentioned that, when they first encountered demons, Lady Trevelyan assisted her in defeating them. When the fight was over, Cassandra demanded she disarm."

"And?"

"Cassandra said not only did she do so willingly, but insisted she was only trying to help."

Cullen made a thoughtful noise and replied, "And then there's what my men keep telling me…"

"The woman sighted in the rift behind Lady Trevelyan?" Leliana nodded, "Yes, I've heard it too. Most are now convinced it was Andraste herself…

"It is difficult to believe, no?"

He shook his head, "It's hard to say what's fact or fiction at this point…"

They'd crested the hill and came to a stop two dozen paces from his door. From the corner of his eye, he could tell she was scrutinizing him, searching his expression or, as he sometimes joked, his mind, for any clue as to what he might be thinking. He let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as he fumbled for something to say.

"I'll admit, I'm not… convinced of her guilt myself," he told her quietly.

She nodded, motioning to the path once again. They drifted slowly toward his cabin and, when they reached the door, he found himself looking toward the cabin where the prisoner lay convalescing once again. Leliana made a thoughtful noise at his side and he turned to give her a questioning look.

"You could go see her, you know," she offered with an enigmatic smile before drifting off across the courtyard to her own cabin. "Good night, Commander."

He watched her disappear through the door and, as she was closing it behind her, he heard Josephine's voice. A moment later, the cheerful ambassador poked her head out the door and waved regally to him, "Good night, Commander!"

"And to you, Lady Montilyet," he said with a slight bow before slipping into his own cabin. As he entered, Rylen looked up from his perch at the fireplace where he was darning socks. He shot Cullen a lopsided grin to which he merely nodded in reply. Contented, Rylen returned to his mending, humming something under his breath as he did so.

Cullen shut the door behind him and busied himself with removing his armor. The silence was palatable and he soon found himself growing annoyed by it. As he hung his pauldrons on the armor rack that stood at the foot of his bed, he turned to glance at Rylen and muttered, "All right, spit it out."

"Oh I dunno," his companion began in an airy tone, "Yer training late in thae yard an' missed supper for the second night in a row. If I didnae know better, I'd think somethin' was on yer mind, Cullen."

"Not you, too," Cullen groaned.

Rylen looked up from his darning with a smirk, "If I had to guess, I'd say Sister Leliana's been on ya as well, hm?"

Cullen made a noise of disgust as he hung his sword belt on a hook by the door. Rylen regarded him in silence for a moment before letting out the breath he'd been holding. In a gentle tone, he said, "We only pester because we care, Commander."

Cullen made an irritated noise as he sat down on the edge of his bunk to remove his boots. He rose and padded across the stone floor to place them at the foot of his armor stand and, as he turned, replied, "While I appreciate the sentiment, the lot of you working in concert is becoming rather tiring."

Rylen made a thoughtful sound, drawing his needle through his sock several times to make a knot. When he'd finished, he glanced up to see Cullen climbing into his bunk and retorted with a smirk, "Well, perhaps if you'd listen once in a while ye stubborn Ferelden git, mebbe we wouldnae need to hound you so."

A pillow came sailing in his direction in answer, which Rylen caught with a laugh, "A second pillow for me? Why thank you, Commander, ye're ever so thoughtful!"

Cullen groaned from his bunk and held up his hand, "Give it back."

Chuckling, Rylen tossed it back and rose to retreat to his own bunk with a yawn. "Good night, Commander."


	3. The Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prisoner's woken up and is summoned to the Chantry to meet the Inquisition's leadership. Afterward, Cullen has a chance to speak with her; adorkableness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

Chapter 3: The Herald

Haven, Drakonis 12, Dragon 9:41

The following morning, Cullen stepped into the pre-dawn light of Haven barely managing to cover a yawn. He shivered as the cold mountain air hit him and muttered a curse; it was far colder than usual. Casting a glance toward Lady Trevelyan's cabin, he saw the guards standing there looking half-frozen. Taking pity on them he said, "Go warm yourselves in the tavern. I'll stand watch while you're gone. Don't be overlong."

"T-thank you, Commander," one stammered out, bringing his hand to his chest in salute as he and his partner hurried off toward the inn. When they'd gone, he slipped inside the cabin where he found Adan mixing some sort of tincture.

Standing near the foot of Trevelyan's bed, dressed in full regalia minus his helm, stood Knight-Lieutenant Gregory. The young templar brought his fist to his chest in a crisp salute but said nothing. Cullen nodded to the young man before turning his attention to Adan and the prisoner.

"Ah, G'morning, Commander," Adan said with a yawn.

"How is she?"

"Improved. Her color's up but she's still dead to the world," Adan admitted with a sigh, nodding to his notes. "There were a few developments after you looked in on her but nothing particularly earth shaking."

Cullen strode over to the small table Adan had indicated and picked up the papers that sat there.

 

— _Day Three—_

_Less thrashing. Some response to stimulus. Vitals seem solid._

_Two attempts so far by locals to break in to kill my patient._

_All this work to save her life, and will they just execute her?_

_Will inform Lady Cassandra I expect her to wake in the morn._

 

"People trying to kill Lady Trevelyan isn't earth shaking news?" Cullen asked, incredulous, "Why wasn't I informed of this immediately?"

"Oh, I thought you meant—right," Adan sighed, "Lady Cassandra insisted she would handle it."

"I see," Cullen replied, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. "And the perpetrators?"

"In the stocks, Commander."

"Very well," he responded, somewhat satisfied. He turned to leave, sparing one last glance over his shoulder to look at Trevelyan as she slept.

"Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I'll see you're notified as soon as she wakes," Adan said. Cullen couldn't quite tell, but he thought, perhaps, the man felt poorly for not informing him about the attempts on Trevelyan's life. _Honestly_ , he grumbled to himself, _what was Cassandra thinking keeping this to herself?_

"Thank you, Adan," he replied and stepped outside. He saw that the guards had returned, both saluting crisply and thanking him a second time for allowing them to get warm. He waved them off and continued on his way to perform his daily duties.

* * *

An hour and a half later, a messenger arrived in the training yard. Cullen, who was in the middle of a demonstration of proper shield techniques, looked up to see Rylen and an Inquisition agent, one of Leliana's he believed, standing not far from him. Rylen inclined his head slightly to the messenger as he caught Cullen's eye and the Commander immediately turned the lesson over to Lieutenant Donnell before excusing himself.

Cullen looked at them both expectantly as he drew near and the young woman brought her fist to her chest in salute, "Commander, Lady Trevelyan has awoken."

"Thank you. I imagine Seeker Pentaghast has requested my presence in the Chantry?" Cullen asked.

"That I don't know, Commander. I came straight away from Adan. Although I heard him say someone was fetching fresh clothes for her meeting in the Chantry."

"Very well, dismissed," Cullen intoned with a nod before turning to Rylen. Before he could say a word, however, another messenger ran up. He acknowledged them with a nod and was informed Seeker Pentaghast requested his presence in the Chantry straight away. "I don't know how long this meeting will take. You're in charge. Keep them training."

"Aye, Commander," Rylen replied with a grin.

As he strode up the hill toward the residences, he noticed a crowd beginning to form. As he passed several clumps of villagers, messengers, and various Chantry folk, he caught snippets of their conversation. All spoke of Lady Trevelyan's awakening. Some wondered how long it would take for the Chantry to hang her. Others were repeating the benediction and a fourth group, he heard marveling over the Herald sent to them by the Holy Andraste herself.

Cullen sighed at the spectacle and pressed his way through the ever-increasing crowd. Some minutes later, he pushed his way through the giant Chantry doors and was greeted by none other than the Seeker herself. She nodded to him imperiously, which he returned before continuing on his way to the Chantry's cloister, which had been converted to the Inquisition's nerve center. Much to Ambassador Montilyet's chagrin, Cullen had dubbed it 'the war room' and the name stuck.

As he entered the meeting room, Ambassador Montilyet greeted him brightly, "Good morning, Commander! Is this not exciting?"

"Indeed," he returned in a dry and deeply reserved tone. If she noticed his annoyance, she did not show it. She hummed to herself as she stood to his left, now what he considered her usual place at the command table, apparently compiling notes on her ever present portable desk which she held in her left arm.

Leliana appeared a moment later, reports in hand. She settled to his right, handing him half the stack, "I'm told she will be along any moment."

He looked down at the report she'd given him and noticed it appeared to be a short biography of Lady Trevelyan.

_Born on All Soul's Day, Dragon 9:11 the second of twins to Bann Branwynn and Lady Cecelia (nee' el Azura*), Trevelyan of the City of Ostwick at two minutes of midnight during the worst sea squall on record. Named for her great-great grandmother on her father's side. Favorite color is Calenhad Sunset. Siblings are as follows: Lords Rhys, Caerwyn, and Aderyn Trevelyan. Lord Rhys oversees his father's modest trading fleet, Lord Caerwyn functions as the Trevelyan estate manager, while Lord Aderyn serves as Captain of the Trevelyan house guard. Lady Trevelyan was surrendered willingly by her father to the Ostwick Circle of Magi the day after her 9th birthday. Family motto: ‘Modest in temper, bold in need.’_

_* (her Ladyship's grandmother is notorious Rivaini raider captain Esperanza el Azura, Scourge of the Northern Passage and a high ranking member of the Felicisima Armada)_

Cullen looked up from the report and shot Josephine a slightly sardonic look, "I'm surprised you didn't include whether or not she cares for long walks on the beach, Ambassador."

"Don't be ridiculous, Commander," Leliana quipped, "Of course she likes long walks on the seaside. She is from Ostwick, is she not?"

Cullen rolled his eyes, complaining, "This tells me nothing of her magic specialization, abilities, nor if she's battlefield tested. How am I—"

"I suppose you'll have to address your concerns with Lady Trevelyan herself, Commander," Josephine smiled inclining her head toward the door, "And how fortuitous that you will not have to wait long."

Cullen's eyes widened slightly as he shifted his gaze toward the door. Just as Josephine had said, he spotted the Herald walking up the long hall to the war room. This was the first time he'd seen her upright in days and he was surprised to see how petite she was, especially when standing next to the Seeker. That would put her at approximately a head shorter than himself, he thought as he continued to watch their progress.

chatting with Cassandra as they made their way to the war room. He watched as they paused for a moment, Cassandra actually laughing at something the other woman had said. He marveled to himself, _Lady Cassandra laughing? Actually laughing. Will wonders never cease?_

A moment later they strode into the war room and the Seeker wasted no time getting down to business, "You've met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces."

"It was only for a moment on the field," he responded, giving Lady Trevelyan a courteous nod and a smile, "I'm pleased you survived."

He watched as she smiled in return, clasping her hands behind her back as Cassandra continued, "This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

"I've heard much. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"And of course you know Sister Leliana," the Seeker continued, nodding imperiously in the Nightingale's direction.

"My position here requires a degree of –" Leliana began to say with a smile.

Cassandra, having no patience for dramatics, cut her off, "She is our spymaster."

"Yes," Leliana replied in a mildly annoyed tone, "Tactfully put, Cassandra."

"Pleased to meet you all," Mnemyn said with a smile and a polite curtsy.

"I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,"

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana immediately insisted.

 _Here we go_ , Cullen groused mentally and spoke up, "And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well."

Cassandra heaved a sigh of frustration and shot back with, "We need more power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—"

Before she could finish, however, Cullen slanted her a sharp look and retorted testily, "Might destroy us all."

He heard Trevelyan gasp softly from across the table and looked up to see her watching him with an owlish, slightly horrified look. "Templars could suppress the Breach. Make it so—"

"Pure speculation," Leliana said dismissively, cutting him off.

" _I_ was a Templar," Cullen responded angrily while leveling glare at their spymaster. From the corner of his eye, he saw Trevelyan take a wary step back. Seeing her distress, he softened his tone and continued, "I know what they're capable of."

"Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet," Josephine broke in. By the way she was looking at he and Leliana, he guessed she was attempting to steer the conversation back to more neutral territory. "The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition—" she explained. Pausing just long enough to gracefully motion to Trevelyan with the tip of her quill, she continued, "And you specifically."

Mnemyn snorted, "Well, that didn't take long."

Cullen turned to address Josephine, asking, "Shouldn't they be busy arguing over who becomes Divine?"

The ambassador let out a sigh, giving him a mildly admonishing look, and promptly ignored his question. Composing herself once more, she turned back to address Lady Trevelyan, "Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste,' and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you."

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt," Cassandra remarked in an annoyed tone.

"It severely limits our options," Josephine informed them, "Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question."

Trevelyan spoke up now, sounding a touch exasperated, "Just exactly how am I – a mage – the 'Herald of Andraste?'"

"People saw what you did at the temple," Cassandra explained, "How you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste."

Leliana added, "Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—"

"Which we have not," Cassandra retorted before Leliana could finish. Cullen winced inwardly as he noticed the Seeker slanting a mildly annoyed look in the Nightingale's direction. He silently hoped this discussion would not deteriorate into a shouting match, as this is what seemed to be the norm between the four of them as of late.

Leliana glared daggers at the Seeker for a few beats before continuing tightly, "The point is, everyone is talking about you."

"It's quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?" Cullen asked, hoping to both lighten the mood and steer the conversation away from the precipice of becoming a deeply embarrassing first meeting with their new agent.

"It's more than a little unsettling," Trevelyan replied uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing.

Cullen chuckled, "I'm sure the Chantry would agree."

Situation successfully diffused, the conversation turned to how Lady Trevelyan, or, as Leliana and Josephine were now calling her, the Herald, could help the fledgling Inquisition survive. Even Cassandra, whom had threatened to execute the young woman not four days earlier, seemed to have decided Trevelyan's willingness to close the Breach was enough to remove any suspicion she was guilty of the Divine's murder. The irony of this sudden face turn was not lost on Cullen.

Leliana and Josephine explained they not only needed allies but a positive image. Cullen found himself stressing recruitment, infrastructure, and, most importantly, supplies. He watched as the Herald nodded along, her brow furrowing in thought as they each spoke in turn. Although she asked few questions, Cullen had the sense she was taking their counsel seriously. How well she'd perform in the field, well, only time would tell.

After the meeting adjourned, Cullen watched as Cassandra and Leliana strode off in a brisk pace, whispering angrily and animatedly to one another. He imagined they were likely admonishing one another for their verbal sparring earlier. Josephine bid everyone a pleasant day and slipped off to her office, leaving Cullen and the Herald alone, the war table between them. She smiled at him and hitched a thumb over her shoulder, "I should, ah, probably see if they were able to recover my trunk."

"We weren't sure if," Cullen replied, hesitating a moment as worried what he was about to say might sound ghoulish, "well, if you would awaken. Josephine thought it best to store your belongings in her office…should we need to send them to your parents."

"Ah," she said, shifting uncomfortably and looking away. Her brow furrowed in thought now and she quickly looked up and said, "It was a close thing, then? Adan…didn't seem comfortable giving me details."

"There was little we could do for you," Cullen admitted as rounded the table and motioned to the hall. He waited until she filed out of the room, following closely behind her, "No one has set foot in the fade for over a thousand years. And your magical mark, well, we are still unsure how or why it affected you so."

She fell into step with him as he strode toward one of the many Inquisition agents frequenting the Chantry, "Please have Lady Trevelyan's belongings moved to her cabin."

"Of course, Commander," the young man returned, saluting smartly.

"Unfortunately, your staff and armor were pretty well destroyed," he continued, "I'll see to it our blacksmith finds you suitable replacements as quickly as possible."

"Thank you," she replied gratefully.

Casting a glance about the hall, Cullen realized there were no fewer than two dozen sets of eyes watching them or, more aptly, the 'Herald.' Leaning slightly closer to her, he asked, "Perhaps it's best we continue our conversation outside?"

"Of course," she responded with an air of mild uncertainty. While she didn't outright recoil, she did seem skittish or, at the very least, hesitant by his nearness. Cullen did his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head that was screaming, _she hates you because you're a templar!_ Instead, he casually and politely eased back a pace, hoping perhaps all the attention and stress of the last few hours might have her on edge.

When they passed through the Chantry doors, Cullen continued to lead her down the path. "Are you well, my lady?"

"I—well, yes, I am. Thank you," she stuttered, looking rather uncomfortable.

He slanted her a skeptical look and drew to a stop, his brows furrowing slightly. Try as he might, he could not assuage his own fears that it was he who was making her uncomfortable. They would be working together and, very likely, quite closely, so he felt compelled to make sure they got off on the right foot. There was no dancing around the subject, he knew, so he opted for honesty, "I couldn't help but notice you seemed concerned when I mentioned I'd been a Templar."

"I didn't realize one could simply quit the Order," she returned.

"Neither did I, until fairly recently," he admitted, "My lady, if my being a templar unnerves you—"

"No, Commander, I assure you, that has nothing to do with my reaction earlier," she replied enigmatically. She was looking at the mark now, studying the strange glowing energy for a moment before raising her gaze to meet his own. "I had very recently remarked to Cassandra my own concern about amplifying this… _thing_. I was merely surprised and, to be quite honest, relieved to hear someone else was thinking about the consequences of doing so and rather pragmatically I might add."

Cullen relaxed ever so slightly, letting out the breath he'd been holding before motioning to the path ahead. She smiled and fell into step beside him, "Truth be told, I find it oddly comforting to know you were a templar."

"Oh?" he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

Her smile widened a bit more, "I am a mage, after all."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. _She doesn't hate templars?_

She seemed to sense his confusion and explained, "I come from a long line of deeply devout Marchers, Commander Cullen. There are dozens of Templars, brothers, ley sisters, and clerics in my family."

"Forgive me," he admitted, smiling slightly, "it's not often I meet a mage who doesn't hate templars on principle."

She huffed out a sigh, tossing one hand up in frustration, "It's as my father often says: people should be judged by their actions and how they comport themselves in regard to their brethren, not by the silly labels the world places upon their shoulders."

"A very enlightened outlook on the world and mankind," Cullen remarked with a smile. _Perhaps we shall be fast friends_ , he thought to himself. "Tell me, have you travelled much in service to your circle?"

"A fair amount," she admitted, "Mostly to assist in various disasters relating to the winter storm season, although I was fortunate enough to also go on several combat sorties after the mage rebellion. And yourself?"

"I served in two Circles," he began slowly, "The second of which I spent a great deal of time travelling the countryside and patrolling the city."

"Which circles?"

"Ferelden and Kirkwall," he admitted as casually as he could manage which, in his case, wasn't very casual at all.

"I had a cousin who served in Kirkwall," she remarked quietly.

"I knew him," Cullen replied, their eyes meeting briefly before he continued, "He was a good man and has been sorely missed."

"So you were there when Knight-Commander Meredith succumbed to Lyrium poisoning?"

"That's one way of phrasing it," he admitted wryly.

"I thought your name sounded familiar," she remarked brightly. Her tone caused no small amount of confusion for him and he slanted her a wary glance when he was sure she wasn't looking. _Here it comes_ , he thought. She didn't appear angry but, none the less, he began bracing himself for the inevitable litany of anger to begin. _Damn Varric and his blighted novel_.

"You were the Knight-Captain who sided with the Champion," she remarked, "I heard it said had it not been for your leadership directly afterward, the city would have descended into chaos."

He cast a cautious glance in her direction and was surprised to see her watching him with what he could only surmise was admiration, "You're very well informed."

"I petitioned the Chantry for copies of your reports, I'll admit," she said sheepishly.

Again, his eyebrows went inching toward his hairline, "Really?"

"I was hoping to glean more accurate information about the nature of Meredith's descent into madness," she paused, laying a gentle hand on his bracer, "I'm sorry, you lived through that terrible ordeal and here I am making it sound so clinical and cold."

"No, it's…fine," Cullen managed. A thought occurred to him and he turned to ask her, "You've been studying red lyrium?"

"My First Enchanter and our Knight-Commander were quite alarmed to hear of its effects," she began, "They asked me to try to determine what dangers it posed and whether or not it this…supposed song it 'sings' was as contagious it was alleged to be."

"So you don't believe Varric's 'Tale of the Champion?'"

"I suppose there are threads of truth in his…narrative, if you can call it that," she began, her brow furrowing slightly, "Don't get me wrong, it was an interesting read but utterly rubbish."

"I wouldn't recommend letting our esteemed author hear you say that," Cullen chortled. _Oh I think we'll get along swimmingly_ , he thought to himself as he watched her attempt to hide her laugh behind her hand. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed how she'd crinkled her nose as she laughed and how he sun was danced in her jet black hair, nearly framing her in a halo. _Beautiful_ , he thought. His smile widened at the sight of her and Cullen had to admit – between their conversation and her beauty – he'd have an extremely tough time not falling for her.

Just then, his luck at stealing glances at her ran out as Mnemyn turned to catch him staring. Her cheeks flushed rather prettily and she managed a shy smile as she asked, "Something wrong?"

"I, uhm, no," he fibbed, swallowing hard. His mouth had gone incredibly dry for some reason, his pulse leaping in his chest. They fell into a companionable silence as they made their way toward her cabin. "I should let you get back to…whatever it was you were doing."

She smiled genially and gave him a slight nod, "Have a pleasant day, Commander."

"And you as well, Herald," he replied watching her turn toward her door. Suddenly he felt compelled to add, "Should you need something, I'll be in the training yard or—"

He froze as she cast a glance over her shoulder, feeling slightly breathless. He fumbled for a moment before managing to motion to the cottage adjacent to her own, "my quarters."

Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, a look of sprightliness settling across her face very briefly as she smiled at him, "I shall remember that, Ser Cullen. Thank you."

And with that, she slipped into the dwelling, the door shutting quietly behind her. Cullen stood there alone for several beats, he could feel his heart was pounding and hear the blood rushing in his ears as stared after her. "Maker's breath," he muttered under his breath. _I'm in trouble_ , he thought as he realized how utterly taken he was with her already.


	4. An almost unholy love of cheeses...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the quartermaster and blacksmith work to outfit the Herald for her first mission, Cullen has an opportunity to get to know her a little better. In the process, he discovers a few of her more endearing quirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.
> 
> Edited 1/18: Fixed an inaccuracy with Alistair's name; he wouldn't have had a last name (let alone Theirin) when Cullen knew him as a Templar-recruit. Though, I have to wonder if, after the events of the Landsmeet, if he used his father's name much. Even hardened, he seemed reluctant to use it. In cannon where he is King, I know he was referred to as King Alistair Theirin - at least once that I can recall off hand (Freed, Alexander, and David Gaider. The Silent Grove. Milwaukie, Or. Dark Horse Publishing, 2012. Print, 1st Edition.; which is excellent if you haven't read it). Anyway, fixed! Thanks for pointing that out, I can't believe I missed that. >

_Haven, Drakonis 13, Dragon 9:41_

The two days following the Herald’s miraculous recovery were filled with a flurry of activity. Not only did the Herald need new equipment but the Inquisition leadership needed to scrounge together enough supplies for she and her team to travel. During this time, Cullen had several additional opportunities to speak with Mnemyn and it was during these conversations he realized, to his delight, she was incredibly quick witted, sarcastic, extremely intelligent, as well as incredibly kind. That she was a mage only seemed to bother him slightly.

So now, the afternoon before her first mission, Cullen Rutherford of Honnleath found himself completely unable to concentrate on anything since he’d last seen her. He stood in the middle of the chaotic training yard, his eyes fixed on the path leading back to the Chantry and wondered if she would visit him again soon. Normally, he’d be extremely annoyed with himself for being preoccupied with anything other than his duties to the Inquisition. Though this afternoon was a bit of an exception due to the fact that he’d been trying to stave off a rather miserable headache for most of the day. Because of this distraction, and a painful one at that, he found his mind wandered far more easily than usual. In fact, he was so lost in thought that neither did he notice Rylen appear at his side nor hear his second ask a question.

“Commander?”

“Oh I—what?” Cullen said with a start, turning to look at Rylen in surprise.

“Something troubling you?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “I’ve merely a lot on my mind.”

Rylen shot him a look of mild suspicion before handing him a report, “Right. As I was saying, I’ve compiled my report on my efforts to recruit other trusted members of our Order into the Inquisition’s ranks. Would you care to read it now, Commander?”

“Yes, of course,” Cullen took it and began to read. About halfway through, he paused and looked up at Rylen with surprise, “And you’re sure of this?”

“About as sure as I can be at this point,” Rylen admitted, leading Cullen slightly away from the training field. His voice dropped to a low, conversational whisper as he continued, “I dunnae understand where a great number our comrades would have disappeared to. All I can say is many of the mid-level Templars of our age group are turning up missing. More of them every day.”

“I think it’s time to involve the Nightingale,” Cullen replied darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose. The frigid weather had been doing a damn fine job of slowly exacerbating his headache and now with revelation of this unsettling news, his head was beginning to feel as though it were being squeezed by a vice.

“Aye, I think it t’would be a wise move,” Rylen agreed. Silence stretched between them as Cullen re-read Rylen’s report, simultaneously attempting to fight through the haze of pain while trying to glean any detail that might help him discern what might be happening within the Order. He was aware Rylen was watching him closely but was far too tired to comment. Though he didn’t have to.

His astute and loyal friend spoke up now, gently suggesting, “While you’re up there, why don’t you see Adan? That headache’s been weighin’ on you all day.”

Cullen puffed out a breath and nodded in agreement before motioning to the training troops, “They’ll need a water break soon. I’ll be back.”

As he stood explaining Rylen’s report to Leliana, he happened to see the Herald, accompanied by Solas, step from the chantry. The two mages nodded and Mnemyn smiled at him as they passed. He could’ve sworn he heard Leliana sniggering at his side and turned to fix her with a pointed look. She feigned innocence and redirected him back to the topic at hand. She agreed Rylen’s findings were most troubling and assured him she would devote agents to discovering why Templars were disappearing.

That task finished to his satisfaction, Cullen bid her good day and made his way to Adan’s cottage. It was a short walk to the south and west, which he was extremely thankful for as his headache had been steadily growing worse since he’d left the training yard. He watched several couriers come and go as he walked up to the Alchemist’s workshop and, thankfully, didn’t see the Herald or Solas anywhere to be seen. Not that he was hiding his condition but he really didn’t feel like explaining it to anyone at the moment.

Cullen had been a frequent patient of Adan’s since he was recruited to his post as Commander nearly six months ago. Much to his relief, the Inquisition’s somewhat gruff alchemist was rather good with headache remedies. Over the last few months, through a series of trial and error, they discovered those caused by Lyrium withdrawal their own animal so to speak which made them slightly more difficult to treat. After Cullen’s last major headache, shortly before the explosion at the Conclave, he and Adan had been working on a new formula.

Needless to say, Adan was not surprised to see him in the slightest, “Ah, Commander, you look like you’ve crawled outta the Void.”

“I see your bedside manner has improved much since my last visit,” Cullen replied sarcastically.

“Heh. Let’s see,” Adan began digging through the many vials and potions that covered the sideboard, “Ah, here it is. New and improved!”

Adan pulled out a small vial of bright blueish green liquid which seemed to glow faintly and offered it to Cullen. He looked at it for a moment before taking the proffered vial, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Go on now, take it,” Adan insisted, waving at him dismissively, “I haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

Cullen sighed and downed the contents of the vial in one go. He’d decided months ago that, no matter how foul tasting the medicine was, he would not fuss. Fussing was for lesser men. He raised a curious eyebrow at the strange taste but said nothing, only holding up his hand to let Adan he was fine.

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, it at least tastes better than the last batch,” Adan said with a wide grin.

Cullen smirked slightly and said, “Yes, I’d say it’s improved tremendously.”

Adan shrugged, “One of the books said Ghouls’ Beard was good for headaches and I thought maybe it would work for you. How was I to know it tasted like shyte?”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” Cullen admitted, laughing through his nose. He handed the vial back to Adan, drawing in a deep breath. The haze and pain seemed to be lifting already and he remarked, “This this one is working much faster than the last batch.”

“Good,” the Alchemist nodded, turning to make a notation in his journal. “Let me know if it wears off or you feel…off kilter. We’ll tinker with the recipe again if need be.”

“Very well,” Cullen nodded, “Thank you, Adan.”

“Think nothin’ of it, Commander,” he replied over his shoulder before turning back to continue scrawling notes in his journal.

As Cullen turned to leave, he nearly ran headlong into Mnemyn. Thinking quickly, he caught her gently by her shoulders preventing what would’ve been a painful collision, “Herald! I didn’t see you there… are you all right?”

She smiled and readjusted the contents of her arms which he now realized were chock-a-block full of elfroot, “Yes sorry, I was worried I’d drop these. I guess I was in such a hurry and I didn’t see you either.”

“You picked these?”

“Yes,” she nodded, turning to sit the near half-bushel of herbs on one of Adan’s empty tables.

“Y’know when I said I needed herbs, Your Worship, I didn’t expect  _you_  to go gather them,” the alchemist teased dryly.

“It was no trouble,” she replied brightly, dusting off her hands, “I found myself with nothing to do and figured my time would be better spent collecting herbs than reading—” she froze mid-sentence, her eyes going wide and cheeks flushing slightly. She shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat before continuing, “the book I was reading.”

She couldn’t see it, but Adan was smirking at Cullen as if to say he had some idea what sort of book it might be. He imagined she might be sharing novels with Lady Pentaghast, not that it was any of his business. Cullen shot Adan a mildly annoyed look before turning his attention to the Herald, “If you, uh, still find yourself with some free time, perhaps we could…talk?”

“I’d like that,” she nodded, grinning wider still. As he turned to leave, he could have sworn her heard Adan sniggering. He sighed inwardly, shaking his head ever so slightly. He’d definitely hear about this the next time he came for treatment. He heard Mnemyn bid Adan a pleasant afternoon before turning to follow him into the small courtyard outside the alchemist’s cottage.

They walked a dozen or so paces in companionable silence before Cullen turned to her and asked, “Ready for tomorrow’s foray into the Hinterlands, my lady?”

“I think so,” she said with a grin, “This may sound…odd, but I’m really looking forward to camping.”

He chuckled and shot her a wry grin, “I’ll warn you now, you may not be so enthusiastic after a few months of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she shot back, laughing quietly at his side. After a few moments, her expression grew sober and she asked, “Any last minute tips before I go?”

He hummed, his left hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword as he considered how to answer her. Finally, gesturing casually with his right hand, he said, “The Hinterlands is a vast wilderness well populated with all manner of hazards. Bears and wolves are the main predators to be wary of. What few troops we could afford to station there have reported there’s been an increasing number of bandits as well.”

“In addition to the mages, templars, and demons. Lovely,” she groused and blew all the air from her cheeks ruffling a bit of her bangs out of her eyes.

“You did ask,” he teased, smirking.

“I did,” she replied amusedly, chuckling once more.

Again, they lapsed into companionable silence and were now walking past the training yard along the path which led to the forest beyond. Cullen thought this might be the longest they’d been in each other’s company since he’d met her, although why that would matter so much to him, he refused to admit. He watched as she tucked an errant loose hair behind her ear and smiled to himself, marveling at how terribly nice it was just to take a walk with someone.

“So, uhm,” she began a little nervously, “As a former templar, what’s your take on the Mage-Templar war?”

“I think this conflict has been building for a great many years, unfortunately,” he mused, “The Chantry could have done more to alleviate the growing animosity between the two groups. Instead, it either turned a blind eye to the glaring problems or worked to outright exacerbate them.”

She made a thoughtful noise at his side, nodding in reserved agreement, “A very enlightened opinion, Ser.”

“For a templar?” he asked with a smile. He’d intended it as a jest but he had to admit, he really did wish to know what her own personal stance was on templars in general. Their last conversation on the topic had been dreadfully too short.

“For you, Commander,” she grinned, “as a person. That you used to be a templar does inform me of any potential biases you might have but, even then, I’d never assume. I’d much prefer to learn your thoughts and opinions, t’is…more friendly.”

Cullen swallowed hard at her answer, unable to reply nor look her in the eye. Instead, he nodded and rubbed the back of his neck as an awkward silence stretched between them. If she knew some of the things I’ve said, I doubt her opinion would be the same.

“What do you think of mages?” she asked candidly, “Are they, well, we all a threat?”

“I’ve seen the suffering magic can inflict,” he admitted in a somber tone. His thoughts immediately turning to the horrific events he experienced during the fifth blight. Although Uldred’s treachery at Kinloch Hold was over a decade past, the scars the blood mages left on his heart and soul still felt so raw. Cullen drew in a deep breath, forcing the unpleasant thoughts aside and, while it took a great deal of effort to keep his expression as neutral as possible, somehow found the mental fortitude to do so. He continued, “I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it – at times without cause. That was unworthy of me and I will try not to do so here.”

He couldn’t quite tell but, from the way she was looking at him, he thought perhaps she may have picked up on his discomfort. If she had, she didn’t comment on it but merely nodded before replying, “We’ve all made decisions in our pasts that we regretted later, Commander.”

“With the Inquisition, we have a chance to make things right again. To show all of Thedas that Mages and Templars can work together without animosity or fear. That said, I don’t want either group moving through our base completely unchecked,” he paused, “We need safeguards in place to protect people – mages included – from possession at the least.”

“Abominations running pell-mell through camp in the middle of the night would be a problem,” she agreed. “And terribly messy.”

He shot her a look of mild disbelief to which she replied, “Sorry! It’s an extremely bad habit of mine; defusing uncomfortable subjects with awkward, ill-timed humor. You’ll get used to it. Eventually. Well, not necessarily. I haven’t gotten used to it and it’s my own bad habit.”

Cullen found himself chuckling at her awkward yet oddly adorable commentary, turning to her he said, “No need to apologize, my lady. I knew a templar recruit who shared your…habit; he often joked he’d hide behind his shield if he could.”

“Sounds like a splendid fellow,” she replied, “Did he also join the Inquisition?”

“He never completed templar training, actually,” Cullen replied with a thoughtful frown. Off her curious look, he explained, “he was recruited into the Grey Wardens shortly before the Fifth Blight.”

She nodded, clasping her hands behind her back as they continued to meander down the path. The subject of the Blight was a terribly heavy subject and one, due to his own experiences, which made him want to change the subject as quickly as possible. They paused, finding themselves having reached the end of the path which terminated on a dock overlooking the moderately large, frozen lake that comprised Haven’s northwestern border.

“You wouldn’t also happen to have an unholy love of cheeses, would you?” Cullen asked her, giving her a slightly lopsided grin as he remembered how Templar-recruit Alistair could go on for hours about cheese.

She shot him an odd look, answering, “Unholy, no…although a nice smoked anything is lovely. Especially during Satinalia. Why do you ask?”

He was laughing now, shaking his head, “Then I’d imagine you’d get along fairly well with Alistair.”

“ _He’s_ the templar-recruit you—oh of course! Yes, I remember now. _Oh, Maker_!” she said excitedly. So excitedly, in fact, that the statements came out as nearly one gushing, long sentence. Her cheeks flushed crimson at her own enthusiasm, so she cleared her throat and tried to appear composed before beginning again calmly, “You _know_ Warden Alistair?”

Before he could respond, a wicked wind swept across the lake and with it, a frigid blast of snow and ice crystals. Thinking quickly, Cullen pointed to a nearby pine which they managed to duck behind until the hail of snow blew past. For the briefest of moments, Mnemyn had slipped and lost her footing and Cullen caught her gingerly against his chest. She mumbled her thanks as he gently righted her. He watched her swallow hard as they stared at each, each clearly unsure of what to do.

He noticed some snow on her cheek and felt his fingers twitch at his side. It'd be too forward to dust it off, he argued mentally. Although, he reasoned, if she wasn't going to do it, perhaps he should. Throwing caution to the wind, Cullen gingerly reached over to swipe the snow from her cheek. She immediately reciprocated, dusting some from his hair, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

Cullen managed to mumble his thanks while awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck for lack of anything to do. Mnemyn merely smiled shyly and nodded, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear as she shifted her gaze downward. Despite his surprise, Cullen found himself admiring how adorable she looked even in her embarrassment. Realizing the extremely awkward silence between them, Cullen finally managed to regain his senses and blurted out, “Perhaps we should head back?”

“Uh, yes, probably a good idea… looks like a storm’s blowing in,” she replied before turning to step back on the path toward Haven proper.

“What were we talking about?” he asked after a few painfully long, awkward moments.

“I believe I asked if you knew the Hero of Ferelden's husband, Alistair,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes. No, not very well,” he cautioned her gently, smiling at her excitement before. Inwardly, he cringed at the mention of Ellendra, the woman who not only saved all of Ferelden from the blight but him from madness. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve always had a minor obsession with the Grey Wardens,” she admitted sheepishly, “When I was small, my Gran used to tell us Grey Warden stories and I’ve always found those tales incredibly heroic. And perhaps a bit romantic, I guess.”

He shook his head, smirking, “Yes, I can see how it’d be terribly romantic fighting darkspawn.”

“Well, when you frame it that way, no,” she replied in a slightly disappointed tone. He watched her shake her head, as if determined not to let that get her down, and a look of nostalgia cross her face which set her eyes twinkling with delight. She tossed her hands out excitedly and with youthful exuberance, exclaimed, “I meant the heroic bits with the griffons and dashing swordplay!”

He slanted her a skeptical look and said, “Swordplay is far from romantic or dashing.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, “I’ve watched you training with the troops. I’d argue it’s certainly an art of a sort… at least when you’re wielding the sword.”

Cullen blinked in surprise, barely swallowing a gasp. He recovered quickly and replied, “Y-you’ve watched me training?”

She smiled and shrugged, “Yes. Should I not?”

“I-I didn’t say that, I’m just…surprised,” he mumbled, clearing his throat before continuing, “though I can’t imagine it’d be very entertaining, my lady.”

“I beg to differ,” she commented airily, “You’re  _very_  entertaining, Commander.”

His cheeks felt as though they were aflame now and all Cullen could manage to do was clear his throat and rub the back of his neck.  _How am I so incredibly tongue tied?_  he grumbled mentally. Looking up, he noticed they were now only a dozen or so paces from the training yard and Cullen felt his stomach lurch when he caught sight of Rylen watching them with great interest.  _Maker’s breath._

“Ah, well… thank you…” he managed, casting a glance about to see if anyone else, particularly Leliana, was watching.

She smiled, placing her hand gently on his forearm, “Thank you ever so much for the lovely walk, Commander. I think I’ve kept you from your duties long enough.”

“O-of course,” he stuttered, “Another time, my lady.”

Cullen found himself staring after the Herald after they parted ways. After a moment, Rylen sidled up beside him, smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. Cullen shot him a suspicious look but didn’t dare ask what Rylen found so amusing. Not that he’d have to, he knew.

“So, how was your date with the Herald?” Rylen drawled in both a musical and deeply amused tone.

“E-excuse me?” Cullen stuttered, nearly choking on his own words.

“You heard me,” Rylen chortled.

“Quit being ridiculous,” Cullen shot back grumpily.

“She’s certainly yer type,” Rylen commented airily, rocking back on his heels.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen muttered, turning to stomp off toward the small, battered secretariat he used as a watch desk. He removed a stack of reports from beneath a paperweight and began sifting through them in an attempt to signal he was not in the mood for hijinks.

“Certainly more yer type than Warden Amell was, anyway,” Rylen opined brightly.

Cullen nearly dropped the entire stack of reports at the mention Ellendra Amell but managed to recover at the last moment though not without crumpling a few pages. Rylen clapped him on the back, chortling loudly, “Oh, Commander…what will I do with ye?”

Cullen let out a long suffering sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. There was no point in trying to argue with Rylen. And, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his second was correct. Although he’d never admit it. Outloud. To anyone. _Ever._

He tried to affect a look of annoyance as he glanced at Rylen, “Maker’s breath! May we speak of something else?”

“Of course, Commander!” the gregarious Starkhavener retorted with a grin. “Shall we go over this week’s roving watch roster?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” Cullen agreed. Anything to take his mind off of the Herald would be a mercy right now, he decided. Though much to his dismay, he soon realized that he could only mostly focus as Rylen began reviewing the roster.

Between answers to Rylen’s questions or offering a suggestion on staffing, he began to worry his increasing infatuation with the Herald was becoming not only disruptive but could be perceived as wildly inappropriate. He sighed inwardly, forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. He’d have plenty of time later, he decided, when he was off duty to decide what he should do about his feelings toward Mnemyn.


	5. Aid and Succor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Herald off in the Hinterlands on her first mission, Cullen and the other advisors face their own challenges. To their surprise, the Herald helps them from afar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the setting or the Characters, Bioware does. My intent is to use them only for entertainment, not profit. 
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

_Haven, Drakonis 30, Dragon 9:41_

With the Herald gone, the advisors turned their attention to building the Inquisition’s infrastructure. During the week subsequently following her departure, Josephine worked diligently to court new allies and garner support from those in Orlais whom she knew were sympathetic to their cause. Leliana on the other hand, split her time between gathering new information from Val Royeaux on the Chantry’s rhetoric in addition to monitoring her scouts’ reports from the Hinterlands. Concurrently, Cullen focused on rebuilding their forces while also attempting to outfit and train the small but steady stream of new recruits pouring into Haven daily.

Cullen had, by all accounts, probably the most difficult job of the three advisors. Nearly one quarter of his original forces had been killed during the three days after the Breach’s opening. Another quarter of those left alive had been injured in the push to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. As a result, Cullen had to ensure the bodies of the dead were properly seen to, the injured cared for, while stretching their already miniscule supplies to accomplish both goals while also attempting to outfit new recruits.

Of these three issues, he found the latter was the most flummoxing. Threnn, the Inquisition’s quartermaster, was doing her best with what few suppliers who would work with them. Though Cullen suspected if they’d had a less brusque person in charge of garnering supplies, perhaps they’d have a better time of getting what they needed in a timely manner.

In addition to that, they had a serious funding problem; their dwindling coffers essentially hamstringed his efforts. Josephine was doing her best to fundraise but, because the Chantry had sanctioned them, donations had become scarce; their supporters had become fearful of retribution. Things were looking rather bleak, indeed. Although that began to change on the afternoon of the first day of Bloomingtide.

Cullen had been walking amongst the troops, doling out advice as they trained – adjusting a shield here, advising more follow through on a swing there – when he noticed a small caravan of three wagons approaching on the main road. Aside from their weekly food delivery, which had already been unloaded the day before, they rarely received any other goods. Thinking perhaps this was a merchant who’d lost his way, Cullen turned over the supervision of the troops to Rylen and made his way toward the caravan as it approached the training yard.

He motioned to the lead driver as he drew abreast with him and asked, “Ser, this is Haven, are you lost?”

“Oh no, Ser,” the man replied, “I was hired by Seeker Pentaghast. These are supplies for you from the Hinterlands.”

“Supplies?”

“Yes,” the man explained, “The Lady Herald collected them. I’m to deliver them to—” he paused, reaching into his tunic to retrieve a piece of parchment. Reading it, he continued, “Commander Cullen and Quartermaster Threnn.”

“ _I’m_ Commander Cullen,” he replied, his eyebrows inching toward his hairline. He shot a glance toward where Threnn had set up shop before turning his attention back to the caravan, “Head to the Chantry, I’ll be along in a moment.”

Rylan meandered over, a curious look on his face, “Is everything well, Commander?”

“Supplies,” Cullen explained, surprise still coloring his voice, “sent by the Herald.”

“How fortuitous!” Rylen enthused, grinning brightly, “From the look of it, t’would seem Satinalia came early this year! Shall I move on to the next set of drills while you and Threnn see what presents the Herald sent?”

“Yes, thank you. I shouldn’t be overlong,” Cullen chuckled, giving Rylen a nod before jogging off to catch up with the supply caravan. A moment later, he swung up into the seat of the main wagon. When they arrived in front of Threnn a dozen minutes or so later, the prickly quartermaster regarded them with a deeply suspicious look.

“Oi,” she called, “Whassis rabble?”

“Delivery from the Hinterlands,” Cullen explained.

“We didn’ order no nuffink,” she snarled angrily, closing the distance between them swiftly, “at least I didn’t.”

Cullen sighed and began to reply, “That’s correct—”

Before he could finish, however, Threnn shot forward, stabbing an accusatory finger at his chest, “We ain’t got the funds to pay for these!”

“There’s nothing due for them,” Cullen insisted, not bothering to hide his annoyance with her behavior. “The Herald apparently collected these on her travels through the Hinterlands.”

“You’re joking,” Threnn replied immediately, her eyes wide.

“No,” Cullen replied testily. _Maker’s breath Threnn can be trying on a good day but this is ridiculous_ , he thought sourly.

“Andraste’s tits! This is…I don’t know…” she stammered, blinking at the wagons as she tried to comprehend the magnitude of the delivery, “How many boxes are there?”

Cullen shot her a mildly withering look for her blasphemy before moving to retrieve the shipping manifest from the driver. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he read the diverse list of items. Threnn, who’d been watching him with wide, owlish eyes, waited for his response but Cullen found he was so shocked, he could only hand the manifest to her. A moment later he watched as she stumbled backwards, her expression one of shock.

“Problems?” he asked with a smirk. He had to admit, watching her reaction was entertaining at the very least if not greatly satisfying.

“No—I,” she began, blinking in surprise, “These are all the things I mentioned we needed. An’ then some. Says ‘Thirty crates. Swords, shields, medical supplies, food.’ I—I didn’t think she’d actually…”

“It appears she did,” Cullen remarked dryly. He turned to the hired waggoneer and said, “We’ll unload these here…”

As the men worked to unburden the wagons of their cargo, Threnn began to pry the boxes open. Inside the first, which was marked one of six, they found a note written in the fine script of the Inquisitor’s hand. As soon as Threnn began to examine the contents, she called out to Cullen, “Ser, lookit this!”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Cullen did she’d asked and stood staring in amazement at the contents. Threnn was at a complete loss for words now and shoved the note the Inquisitor included into his hand. Taking pity on her, he read aloud:

 

_Commander Cullen and Quartermaster Threnn,_

_These swords, shields, and various other weaponry were confiscated from the many bandits and ne’er-do-wells we encountered on our travels. I kept those in the best condition which you’ll find in these crates; the rest were sold for coin or melted down for scrap (see crate 26). Do you think our soldiers can use any of this? If it’s not a bother, would you mind sending raven with your answer at your earliest convenience? I find we’re collecting far more gear than we can manage and Scout Harding informs me we are running out of places to put it all._

_Warm regards,_  
_Mnemyn_

_P.S. Commander, I apologize in advance but some of the items are marked with the symbol of the Templar Order. I shall explain the regrettable circumstances behind how they came to be in our custody upon my return._

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen murmured, peering down into the second and third crates as Threnn pried them open.

“’s a lot of weapons,” Threnn remarked with a low whistle of appreciation, “Most in really decent condition. Jus’ how many bandits you think she’s killed?”

“Judging by the number of swords, a great many,”

Just then, Leliana appeared from inside the Chantry and was immediately drawn to the growing pile of crates, “What’s all this?”

“See for yourself,” Cullen said, handing her the shipment manifest and note from the Inquisitor before turning to assist Threnn in prying a new set of boxes open, the first of which was packed to the gills with Elfroot. Atop the herbs sat another note which Cullen read aloud:

_Box one of two: Elfroot for Adan. Please send him my thanks, once again, for saving my life. – M._

He looked up to see the Nightingale blinking in surprise, “How many more crates are there?”

Threnn turned to the pile, quickly counting them, “Eh, another twenty-two unopened, looks like.”

“Maker!” she exclaimed turning to flag down one of her agents. The young woman, who Cullen remembered as Charter, appeared promptly to wait for her mistress’ instruction. “Could you please round up some men so we may begin distributing these supplies? Thank you.”

“Six boxes of Iron ore, two boxes o’ bear meat on ice – with a notation the pelts will be delivered once they’re cured,” Threnn read, still sounding incredulous, “She sends her apologies for there being few bandages, she says she used those they gathered to tend to the wounded at the Crossroads. Instead, she’s sent stuff to make healing poultices for our injured soldiers…”

By now, the porters Leliana had called for were busily hauling items away to their various locations. She stood beside Cullen as he summarized the contents of the crate in front of them, “This one’s a rather long list of what appears to be magical reagents,” Cullen began, “And miscellaneous valuables.”

Leliana reached inside to pull out a heavy sack which sounded as though it were laden with coin, “This one contains... Blessed Andraste, these are all gold coins!”

Cullen was chuckling to himself beside her which caused Leliana to peer up at him with a questioning look. He passed her the note, “Read the postscript.”

“I apologize this wasn’t more coin; Cassandra and I kept ten gold aside for the purchase of supplies and emergency repairs to our gear. I do hope that’s all right.”

They exchanged amused looks before he retorted, “Humble, polite, and helpful to boot. Finally, a bit of good luck.”

Leliana rolled her eyes dramatically, “Luck had nothing to do with this. She was sent to us by the Maker, I am sure of it now.”

Cullen remained quiet, deciding to keep his own counsel on whether or not he agreed with Leliana. He continued to help sort and unload the crates all the while pondering the Nightingale’s words. He had to admit, Mnemyn had awoken at the hour of their greatest need.

And, even now, she was delivering them from what could have quickly become a devastating resource deficit. Of course, this was to say nothing of the goodwill she earned for them through her good works across the Hinterlands. Although, looking at the many boxes of arms and armaments she’d collected, he had to wonder how she was faring. She’d hinted these weapons were only a fraction of what they’d collected, convinced him she and her team were doing an extreme amount of fighting. He would address this at the evening war table meeting and, hopefully, his fellow advisors would agree.

* * *

When the advisors met for their evening meeting, Leliana presented them with a stack of correspondence, “More good news from the Hinterlands.”

“Oh?” Josephine asked, peeking around Cullen to look at Leliana.

“Cassandra indicates they’ve recruited Mother Giselle, a Senior Enchanter who specializes in Spirit Healing, as well as the entire Cult of Andraste, a Tranquil Formari Enchanter, a smuggler, and an informant.

“On top of that, they’ve gathered food and blankets for the refugees, started a program to give those displaced from their homes a chance to work for us in exchange for wages, and the Herald has apparently already spoken to Horsemaster Dennet,” Leliana concluded, stacking the reports and sitting them aside as she waited for his and Josephine’s reactions to the news.

“Have they stopped to sleep?” Cullen asked dryly.

“She is a miracle worker,” Josephine enthused, “In addition to all the supplies, the coin and jewels she sent totals several thousand royals.”

“She’s certainly living up to her moniker,” Cullen replied cautiously. “What do the people say of her?”

“Her works in the Hinterlands are solidifying public opinion that she was indeed sent by Andraste,” Leliana informed them. Picking up one another note, she continued, “Furthermore, Cassandra says the people now see the Inquisition as a force for good.”

“I’ve had a few letters from some of the Ferelden nobility stating they are relieved someone is doing something,” Josephine added, “Many are becoming extremely upset that the Chantry remains paralyzed.”

“As well they should be,” Cullen replied sourly. His comment, he noticed, more or less killed the conversation and the three of them lapsed into silence for several moments. They each seemed to have a great many things on their minds yet none of them appeared to be willing to share.

Finally, Cullen decided he’d attempt to restart the conversation and said, “There was one other matter I believe we needed to discuss.”

“I’m listening,” Leliana replied, her grey eyes locking with his own.

Cullen nearly flinched from the intensity of her gaze but managed to collect his thoughts and continued, “The Herald and her team have been gone for nearly a fortnight. The amount of goods and agents she’s sent back should keep us functioning well for some time, will they not?”

“Yes, of course,” Josephine agreed, “for at least another month if not two.”

“Then I propose we recall them to rest and resupply,” he insisted, “We cannot risk her being injured and, I’m sure Sister Leliana may agree, the intelligence we’re now receiving suggests things are calm for now.”

Leliana’s face remained expressionless for several moments. She’d been bent over, studying a portion of the map and now straightened to her full height to address him, “I do agree we should recall them. However, the reports I have been receiving out of Val Royeaux indicate the opposite, I’m afraid. This appears to be the calm before the storm. My agents have discovered the Chantry will soon begin intensifying their propaganda campaign; I believe it will be in our best interests to send the Herald to confront the Revered Mothers.”

“Perhaps with her many good works and positive public opinion backing her, the Herald might convince the Revered Mothers to support us,” Josephine reasoned.

Cullen pursed his lips and shot the ambassador a skeptical look. Already he knew he was outvoted already and, thus, kept quiet for now.

“Do we have a consensus?” Leliana asked, focusing on him once again.

“I don’t think anything we say will change the Chantry’s opinion of us,” Cullen began tiredly, “The Herald’s time would be better spent closing rifts.”

“Commander, the Chantry poses the greatest threat to the Inquisition,” Josephine lectured him, “If we do not make some sort of diplomatic headway with them soon – or, at the very least, bring them to heel – I am afraid we may witness a complete collapse of the Chantry. We cannot afford such a calamity, not in Thedas’ hour of greatest need.”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes a moment before answering, “You make a good point, I suppose. Send the raven.”

Leliana nodded and began penning the message. As she attended to the missive, Josephine consulted her notes, “There is one more matter we must discuss.”

“And that is?” Cullen replied warily.

“The Herald relayed a message from Horsemaster Dennet,” She began, “He will only supply us horses once he is sure the area is safe for his family…and that the horses ‘will arrive to us unmolested.’ Apparently, the area is rife with bandits, apostates, wolves, demons, and maker only knows what else.”

“A reasonable request,” Cullen replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin in thought for a moment, “I suppose I could spare a few squads to clear the roads…”

“Actually, they’re asking for watchtowers to be constructed,” Josephine replied, “I believe the intent is to station several small but permanent squads there in hopes they will keep the various and sundry dangers at bay.”

“I could persuade one of my contacts in Orzammar to send a work crew,” Leliana mused out loud.

Cullen made a thoughtful sound as he pondered the problem of the watchtowers. Sending for dwarves from Orzammar would take weeks. They needed horses now. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling the now all too familiar pounding beginning behind his left eye. “I shall think on it, Lady Montilyet, send the report to me once Leliana’s added her input. I should have my solution ready by then.”

“Very well,” Josephine nodded, making a note to herself.

“It seems things are well in hand,” Cullen noted, turning toward the door, “Please excuse me, I need to talk to Harritt about new weapons and arms for our latest batch of recruits.”

“Commander?” Josephine called to him just as he was about the cross the threshold of the war room, “Are you feeling well?”

“A headache,” he replied, “It shall pass soon enough.”

Josephine nodded, although he could see the concern still writ across her face. He sighed softly and turned to leave, he would have to try harder to keep his frequent headaches under control. The last thing he needed was for Leliana and Josephine to declare he needed a day off; on a good day he felt as though he were just barely keeping ahead of all of it.

Perhaps Josephine was right; if the Herald could charm refugees in the middle of a war to their side, surely she’d fare better with a bunch of Chantry Mothers. Then again, luck had rarely been on their side. This new plan may very well bring them even greater misfortune. Sighing tiredly, he stalked off to see Harritt. There was no use fretting about it now. He had work to do.


	6. The Chancellor's Comeuppance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chancellor Roderick smugly lectures Cullen and Mnemyn about the perils of going against the Chantry and he bites off much more than he can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

_Haven, Cloudreach 8, Dragon 9:41_

Two days after the Herald’s return from the Hinterlands mission, Cullen found himself breaking up a severe row between some Templars and Mages who’d gathered in front of Haven’s Chantry. Each side was loudly accusing the other of murdering the Divine and, as he physically separated a mage and templar who were scuffling, Cullen was completely unsurprised to find Chancellor Roderick lingering at the back of the crowd, smiling dourly. Roderick had been more or less a pain in his, and everyone else’s, arse since the explosion at the Conclave.

Cullen suspected the ‘good’ Chancellor had been stirring the pot and was shortly rewarded with the truth. The Chancellor stepped up and began making all sorts of accusations about the legitimacy of everything from the Herald to the Inquisition itself. He and Roderick sniped at one another for a few moments before Cullen was able to disperse the crowd. And as if on cue, as the crowd parted the Herald appeared. She’d been standing some 10 feet away, quietly observing the goings on between the two warring factions. As she strolled closer, Cullen thought to himself, Well, this ought to be interesting.

“Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death,” Cullen firmly reminded Roderick, silently hoping the elder cleric would toddle off and pester someone else. Or fall off a cliff.

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick replied sharply.

“Who, _you_?” Cullen almost laughed, replying caustically, “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

From the corner of his eye, he noted that Lady Trevelyan had drawn even with him, and was very much still listening intently. He glanced at her, a smile tugging at his lips, and nodded by way of a greeting. He was pleasantly surprised when she not only nodded but smiled brightly at him in return. Suddenly feeling his stomach doing cartwheels and not quite sure what to do about it, Cullen forced himself to focus his attention on Roderick who, unfortunately, still had not left.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not,” Roderick spat.

“I don’t know, the Inquisition seems about as functional as any young family,” the woman in question retorted dryly at his side. Cullen smirked at the Chancellor and crossed his arms over his chest as if almost daring the cleric to say something.

“How many families are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves?” Roderick questioned her sharply.

“Yes, because that’d never happen to the Chantry,” Cullen scoffed.

The chancellor fixed Cullen with a virulent glare before continuing to lecture them, “Centuries of tradition will guide us. We are not the upstart, eager to turn over every apple cart.”

Cullen sensed the Herald shift at his side and looked over to see her arms crossed in front of her; she was clearly not best pleased. She noticed he was looking in her direction and, in a rather smarmy tone, asked, “Remind me why you’re allowing the dear Chancellor to stay?”

“Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line,” Roderick shot back.

“He’s toothless,” Cullen growled. Roderick was on his very last nerve and he knew it. In an attempt to talk himself down, he added sourly, “There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth.”

Mnemyn slanted him a nod but remained quiet at his side, her face devoid of expression. How she managed it, he didn’t know. Roderick was, by far, the most infuriating person he’d ever met. Suddenly, a thought struck him and Cullen said, “The Chancellor’s a good indication of what to expect in Val Royeaux, my lady.”

“Well, let’s hope we find some answers instead of a cathedral full of chancellors,” Mnemyn retorted wryly, an annoyed edge creeping into her voice.

Cullen shuddered slightly, “The stuff of nightmares.”

“Mock if you will, I’m certain the Maker is less amused,” Roderick lectured, clasping his hands behind his back.

Cullen sighed, deciding the best thing he could do would be to ignore Roderick for now. He turned to the Herald and said, “I’ll keep the peace while you and the others appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux.”

“Better ready yourself for the blame you will be rightly assigned,” Roderick added airily, smiling smugly at the Herald.

Cullen watched as Mnemyn’s expression quickly changed from placid to outraged. So there was a limit to her seemingly limitless patience after all. The good Chancellor just pushed this woman, who could shoot fire, lightening, and ice from her fingertips, right over the edge into fury. Cullen watched her closely, not because he feared she’d use her magic on Roderick, but because he was incredibly curious as to what Mnemyn would say.

Her lips pressed to a thin line and nostrils flared, she stood trying to bore holes into Roderick’s forehead with her eyes for a moment. Cullen couldn’t tell but he thought she might be trying to contain her anger. Her reaction, however, only seemed to amuse the Chancellor which, in turn, stoked Mnemyn’s anger to even greater heights. _I almost feel bad for Roderick_ , he thought, _on second thought, no I don’t. The bastard’s comeuppance is long overdue._

“If there’s any blame to be assigned, Chancellor, I’d argue it falls squarely on the Chantry,” she shot back coldly.

“How _dare_ —”

She held up her hand for silence, and continued, “Do you know how many thousands have been displaced by the Mage-Templar war, Chancellor? How many innocents – men, women, children, and elderly – have been slaughtered because the Chantry has delighted in pitting templar and mage against one another for centuries?”

“I—”

“You _don’t_ ,” she said cuttingly, “and neither does the Chantry. And how could you?”

Leaning toward the cleric, her eyes ablaze and her voice as frigid as ice, Mnemyn continued her verbal assault, “In Thedas’ hour of greatest need, the Chantry is nowhere to be seen. And why might that be? Because you’re all so selfishly wound up in bickering about who becomes Divine, currying favor with the remaining Revered Mothers in the vain hope that you’ll carve out some miniscule niche of power once a replacement has been decided. You’re not only blinded by your own hubris but paralyzed by stupidity! And you dare stand here lecturing me about the Maker?

“Do you have any idea how many rams I killed to collect meat to feed the homeless at the Crossroads? Or how many bandits on the Imperial Highway I dispatched to the Void to make the roads safe once more?”

Cullen watched in amazement as Roderick actually shrank back from Mnemyn’s tirade. After a moment, the usually acerbic cleric cast a helpless look toward him and Cullen merely shook his head to indicate he would do nothing to shield him from her rage.

He watched in quiet amusement as the Herald stabbed an accusatory finger in Roderick’s direction and, emphasizing his title as if she were wielding as a dagger, spat, “No. You don’t, _Chancellor_. Instead you stand here lecturing _me_ about piety and blame. Words are wind _Chancellor_. And while you stand here blowing hot air up our arses about how our glorious Chantry and its beloved, time-honored traditions will save us, people are starving and dying!”

Mnemyn now huffed out a deeply frustrated breath and straightened to collect herself, but Cullen could see the anger was not yet gone from her eyes. Finally, she narrowed her eyes at the cowering cleric before her and said, “If anyone’s to blame for this—if anyone has the blood of those innocents on their hands— _it’s you and your peers, Chancellor_! You and the rest of your fellows are prime examples of exact reason why the Maker turned his holy gaze from us. You sicken me!”

Roderick, for his part, at least had the presence of mind to look embarrassed and ashamed. He took a stumbling step backwards, mouth agape, as Mnemyn glared icily at him. Cullen stood stoically silent at her side, his face expressionless. Inwardly, however, he was not only deeply moved by her words but agreed with her wholeheartedly.

She took a measured breath, tilted her chin upward haughtily, and clasped her hands behind he back as she continued to stare the elder man down. As he withered under her gaze she cautioned him in a slightly less angry, yet still terse, voice, “While I travel to Val Royeaux in an attempt to make your colleagues see reason, I highly recommend you mind your tongue, Chancellor.”

Cullen was surprised when she turned her gaze upon him, her expression softening considerably. In a mild tone, she asked, “Commander, I would very much appreciate it if, upon my return, you’d inform me if the good Chancellor gave you any trouble.”

“I’d be happy to do so, my lady Herald,” Cullen replied with a smile. Both he and Mnemyn now turned to look at the Chancellor once again and the man, seeing both templar and mage presenting a united front, decided now might be the best time to flee. They watched in silence as he sped away from the Chantry as fast as his aged legs could carry him.

At his side, he heard Mnemyn huff out a deeply frustrated sigh. Turning toward her, he watched as she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, “Maker’s breath! I hate that man.”

Cullen chuckled, “You’re in good company then.”

She shot him a wry, sidelong glance and, upon seeing his smile, seemed to calm considerably. All the anger now drained from her face, leaving only a sunny smile in its place, and, in a deeply appreciative tone, she retorted, “Good company indeed.”

“Yes, well,” he fumbled nervously, “I—uh believe Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana were looking for you. They’re finalizing your travel plans.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she intoned with a smile. There was something about her expression that told him there was something else she was thankful to him for but what it was, he could not say. He watched her turn and enter the Chantry, letting out the breath he’d been holding when she’d closed the door behind her. Maker’s breath, he thought, what’s gotten into me?

* * *

The following morning, Cullen saw the Herald and her team off as they prepared to depart for Val Royeaux. Cassandra looked as though they were being escorted to the executioner’s blocks and Mnemyn, he noticed, was uncharacteristically quiet. Cullen found his stomach in knots, idly worrying they may very well be escorted directly to the gallows just as easily as to the Grand Cathedral. Varric had joked that, after news of Roderick’s colossal chewing out at the hands of the Herald reached Val Royeaux, they’d have nothing to fear. Neither Cullen nor Mnemyn seemed entirely convinced that’d be the case.

Despite her reservations regarding her ability to sway people, the Herald seemed mildly hopeful she’d be able to affect some kind of change, however small it might be, in the opinions of the Revered Mothers. Cullen was far more cynical for he knew this was likely going to hurt things more than it helped. Not that his opinion on this issue had mattered much; Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine had out voted him. Again.

Cassandra, clearly annoyed by the delay, began griping they were wasting time which prompted the rest of the group to take to their horses. Cullen moved to stand beside Mnemyn’s horse as she settled into her saddle, offering her one last piece of advice, “Keep your wits about you. Orlais is a viper’s nest.”

“Have no fear, Commander, I shall,” she nodded solemnly in reply. Even from where he stood he could see she looked exhausted and Cullen had to wonder if she’d slept at all the night before. She seemed to sense his growing unease and, placing her right hand on the horn of her saddle, she reached down to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Cullen stared up at her in surprise as she told him in a low voice, “I’ll come back, Cullen, you have my word.”

He felt his heart flutter in his chest as she said his name and was so surprised he had no words with which to answer her so, instead, he merely nodded. She gave him a small, tired smile in return, though for the briefest of moments, he could her own fear come to the fore. She gave him a beseeching look and asked, “Please keep them safe in my absence.”

He straightened and brought his right fist to his chest in salute, his expression one of determination, “You have my word, my lady.”

This time, he was rewarded with a much sunnier smile and a nod before she straightened in the saddle. Bringing her right hand to her chest in salute, she said, “Until we meet again, Commander.”

“Safe travels, Herald,” Cullen replied, returning her salute.

As he stood watching the Herald and her party make their way toward the highway, he noticed Rylen appear at his side. They stood together in silence, watching the intrepid Inquisition adventurers until they disappeared between the stone arch of the bridge on the north road.

“By the grace of the Maker,” Rylen said quietly, “I pray she can make them see sense.”

“If she’s unable, I’m sure Lady Cassandra shall beat it into them,” Cullen remarked wryly.

Rylen chortled at his side, “I’d pay to see that, I would.”

“As would I,” Cullen laughed. He soon cleared his throat and turned toward the path which led back to the training yard, “Come, we have work to do.”

“Aye,” Rylen agreed, “Perhaps by the time our Lady Herald’s returned, they’ll at least be able to block with a shield properly. _Sweet Maker_ preserve me.”


	7. The Viper's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald returns from Val Royeaux with two new followers and one of them tries to embarrass her. Cullen won't stand for it and swoops in to save the day. Varric lets the Herald know he knows she's in love and hilarity/awkwardness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> (Hello from the author! I wanted to get one last post in before the new year! I hope you enjoy it, it's a longer one.)
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

# Chapter 7: The Viper’s Nest

_Haven, Cloudreach 28, Dragon 9:41_

In the Herald’s absence, tensions between the mages and Templars remained high. Roderick, true to form, continued to stir things up whenever he could, although Cullen noticed he was being much stealthier about his pot stirring. Perhaps the Chancellor had the good sense to actually fear the Herald’s wrath. Despite Roderick’s best efforts, Cullen managed to keep the two groups from coming to blows. This, however, took its toll on his already low threshold for nonsense. The continued and intense vitriol flung between the two factions often confounded him to the point that he’d have to spend at least an hour each evening systematically destroying a training dummy in the yard.

When he wasn’t breaking up fights, scolding Mages and Templars for bad behavior, or sifting through intelligence reports, he continued to train the recruits which he was extremely grateful for. Training took his mind off the Mage-Templar divide as well as his lingering and ever increasingly inappropriate thoughts about the Herald. He found this, more than anything, the most exasperating. They were in the middle of a war and he was behaving like a Knight-recruit.

Since the Herald’s successful trip to the Hinterlands, the Inquisition’s army had nearly doubled in size. Although not large, it was, in his opinion, adequate to keep the peace should he need to use it in such a fashion. Cullen quietly hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though, after all he’d experienced as a templar, he knew better. Trouble would rear its ugly head soon enough and they must be ready for anything.

On Bloomingtide 10, a full month and four days after the Herald left, a raven arrived from one of Leliana’s agents with news from Val Royeaux. The Nightingale summoned both he and Josephine to the war room to disseminate the news and discuss their next course of action. As Cullen suspected, the scout’s summary of the event did not bode well for their fledgling organization.

“Apparently, as the Herald arrived, the Revered Mothers were in the process of shouting down the Inquisition from a dais set up in the Summer Market,” Leliana began in a somber tone, “When Lady Trevelyan tried to reason with them, they open mocked and derided her, calling her a false prophet and a maleficar.”

Flipping over the missive, she added, “If that were not already bad enough, Lord Seeker Lucius appeared moments later with what remained of Templar Order in tow. He, too, derided the Herald and the Inquisition and then announced the Templars were splitting off from the Chantry immediately.”

“But why would the Templars just leave the Chantry?” Josephine asked, clearly horrified by the notion.

Leliana shook her head, handing her the scout’s report, “It would appear Lord Seeker Lucius deemed the Chantry unworthy of the Templar’s continued support.”

“I have to grudgingly agree with him there,” Cullen snorted. When both Josephine and Leliana turned to stare at him with a look of disbelief, he shrugged, “Let’s be honest, the Chantry has made a dismal mess of things since the Divine’s murder.”

“That is no reason to completely abandon the Chantry,” Leliana argued.

“On what grounds did the dear Lord Seeker site his authority to do so?” Josephine asked suddenly, handing the report back to Leliana.

Leliana shuffled through her stack of papers and, after a moment, retrieved the one she’d been looking for, “He claims that when the Chantry refused to quell the mage uprising, they broke the Nevarran accord.”

“Maker have mercy,” Josephine whispered.

“I can’t say I’m terribly surprised,” Cullen admitted, “I told you this would be for naught. It would seem everyone in a position of authority across the whole of Thedas has succumbed to madness.”

He leveled a mild look at Leliana, which implied ‘I told you so’ before dropping his gaze to the extremely large map on the table before them. Leliana said nothing in return. Instead, she braced her right elbow on her left hand, her hand propped up under her nose in a thoughtful gesture as she considered the various markers spread across the parchment.

Josephine, whose quill had been rapidly scratching away across her parchment during their brief exchange, now paused as though something occurred to her. She made a thoughtful noise and looked up to say, “This business with the Lord Seeker is highly irregular, is it not?”

“Indeed,” Leliana agreed, her voice sounding far away, “Where could they be going, I wonder?”

“We shall see,” Cullen said mysteriously, his eyes focused on a point in eastern Ferelden, “But for now, we must consider our next move.”

“Yes, of course,” Josephine agreed, humming as she held the feathered tip of her quill to her chin, her lips pursed in thought as she studied her notes. Leliana shuffled through a few reports, shaking her head as she continued to sift through more bad news while Cullen continued to scrutinize the map.

Finally, Cullen spoke, “Clearly we haven’t done enough to earn the Templar’s respect. I suggest we shore up more support and extend an invitation to the Lord Seeker.”

“Mm,” Josephine murmured, “That would be a wise course of action. In the wake of the events of the Summer Market, I have already received several letters from my contacts in Orlais who’ve expressed interest in bring the Templars back under Chantry supervision. Many of the devout nobles are deeply troubled.”

“We should also not discount the Mages,” Leliana reminded them, “we know they are based nearby in Redcliff village at this very moment. It would take little time to reach and entreat with them.”

Cullen sighed in frustration, “I still believe the Templars would be a far safer option.”

“We do not even know where they are,” Leliana reminded him pointedly. He met her gaze with intensity and they glowered at one another for only a few moments before Josephine quietly scolded them for quarreling.

“We shall see what the Herald thinks when she returns,” Leliana said with an air of finality, clearly signaling they should table the discussion for now.

The Herald and her party returned to Haven at midday of Justinian 8, a full month after the Summer Market incident. Cassandra seemed at once surprised and annoyed Leliana’s agents had already reported the outcome of their meeting. From the way the Herald remained reserved, almost withdrawn, Cullen could sense the events of what transpired in Val Royeaux weighed heavily upon her. _Perhaps I should try to talking to her when our meeting is adjourned_ , he thought.

As the advisors, Cassandra, and the Herald made their way to the war room, the Seeker began to explain that the trip was not a complete loss. The Herald had managed to recruit two new members whom she’d met during their brief stay in Val Royeaux, the first of whom was Madame Vivienne de Fer. Leliana said she was familiar with the mage and courtier, stating the woman had been the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle for quite some time.

Cassandra explained how Vivienne had graciously offered her services in both magic and navigating the often complex nature of the Orlesian nobility. To say Cullen was immediately suspicious of the Orlesian courtier’s motives was an understatement. Nobility rarely did anything that didn’t immediately benefit them in some way. He decided he’d provide Mnemyn some friendly advice regarding the First Enchanter’s motives just in case she had not yet seen them.

Also accompanying the Herald was a Ferelden city elf named Sera who had a foul mouth and a bad attitude to match. Mnemyn informed them that the young woman was extremely good with a bow and Cullen supposed they couldn’t be terribly picky about help when it was offered. Though from the moment he laid eyes on her, Cullen could tell that Sera would be problematic at best. 

The irony of how these two women could not be any more diametrically opposed to one another in both personality but station was not lost on Cullen. And, judging by the way Sera was shooting glares at Vivienne or making rude gestures at the mage when her back was turned, it seemed they’d gotten off to a _wonderful_ start. Vivienne, on the other hand, was aloofly pretending as if Sera didn’t exist which, he had to admit, probably was the best option for harmonious coexistence between them.

The good fortune of two new followers would do little for the mood in the war room, however, as the argument over whom the Inquisition should seek help in closing the Breach erupted anew. Though this time the advisors were much more passionately arguing with one another as they’d had ample time antagonize each other in Mnemyn’s absence.

Sensing the underpinnings of animosity growing, Mnemyn wisely suggested each advisor present their viewpoint and to frankly air any reservations they might have. She listened patiently to all three of them in turn and, afterwards, she carefully considered their arguments. After deliberating for some minutes, she spoke up, “From a tactical point of view, I believe the mages in Redcliff are our best hope for closing the Breach. We know where they are and thus it should take little time to bring them here once I’ve convinced them to join our cause.”

Cullen let out a sigh of frustration. He could see Leliana and Josephine seemed pleased with the Herald’s decision. There seemed to be no changing her mind, either. Cullen resigned himself to hoping the Mages would not ally with the Inquisition due to it being born from the Chantry. Perhaps then the Herald would see reason and approach the Templars.

“Mark my words, this will end in folly,” Cullen said darkly as the meeting adjourned.

As the senior members of the Inquisition filed out of the war room, Mnemyn found herself without something better to do. It would be at least two days while the supplies for their next trip were being prepared. Soon, she found herself drawn into polite conversation with Mother Giselle regarding the fate of the pilgrims and people affected or displaced by the chaos the Breach had caused. Several feet away, Madame de Fer gossiped with a pair of visiting Orlesian nobles; the trio watching the Herald with great interest.

Cullen also stood nearby with Cassandra where he was discussing the finer details of the last two missions. Concerned for she and her team’s safety, he’d been asking Cassandra’s opinion of the Herald’s abilities on the field of battle. As of late, he’d wondered how they’d fared and reasoned he could provide the Herald additional training should she require it.

“She is a very capable mage,” Cassandra replied quietly, “Quick on her feet, cautious, and has a near preternatural sense of the flow of battle.”

Cullen nodded, briefly casting an appreciative glance in Mnemyn’s direction. He knew the Seeker to be a very shrewd, brutally honest woman and, thus, she would never sugar coat anything. So if she said the Herald’s skills were impressive, they were just that. Nodding, he turned back to Cassandra and asked, “Any problems?”

“Nothing of note,” Cassandra replied, “She is very well tempered and has strived to get along with everyone, myself included.”

As the Seeker and Commander were speaking, Varric, who had been discussing something with Josephine in her office, stepped into the hall. Mnemyn, who was now saying her goodbyes to Mother Giselle, turned to see him.

“Varric,” Mnemyn called out as he strolled by.

“Oh hello, Herald,” he grinned, “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you happened to be going to the blacksmith?” When all Varric gave her was a confused look in return, Mnemyn elaborated, “I’d feel better walking through the camp with a companion.”

As soon as she’d spoken, she immediately regretted it. Vivienne had overheard her and simpered, “My, what a _well_ _behaved_ circle mage you are, my darling! I feel I should write to your First Enchanter and applaud your manners, your circle did such a fine job raising such a polite and well behaved mage.”

Vivienne’s overloud commentary immediately piqued both Cullen and Cassandra’s attention and they both turned to see how Mnemyn would react. It was clear even from where Cullen stood that the Herald was deeply embarrassed by the First Enchanter’s remarks. But instead of arguing, she remained silent, folding her hands in front of her while smiling tightly at the senior mage.

Cullen let out a heavy sigh; he hated how nobles treated people. It seemed to him they only lived to tear each other – and everyone else for that matter – down at every possible opportunity, most often just for the fun of it. Deciding the Herald’s honor needed defending, he murmured a hasty goodbye to Cassandra and strode over to stand beside Mnemyn.

“Did I hear you say you wished to pay the blacksmith a visit, Lady Trevelyan?” he asked kindly, putting particular emphasis on the Herald’s noble name while shooting Madame de Fer a positively virulent glare.

Mnemyn started at his sudden appearance but recovered quickly, “Why yes, Commander, I did.”

“I happen to need to speak to Harritt about a repair,” he explained, offering his arm, “Perhaps you’ll allow me to accompany you?”

She smiled gratefully and slipped her arm through his before striding out of the Chantry beside him. As they stepped into the bright morning light, he paused to glance back at the small furor he’d caused. He grinned as he saw an angry Cassandra pull Vivienne off into an alcove, presumably to scold her for her poor behavior. He heard Mnemyn gasp in surprise and looked down at her with a smirk, feeling quite pleased with himself. A look of discomfort settled across her features and the usually unsinkable mage gingerly unlinked her arm from his, dropping her hand to her side while giving him a mildly pained smile in return.

He stared at her in surprise, wondering what he’d done to upset her but, before he could ask, she spoke up softly, “Thank you for the rescue, Commander. I do appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure,” he returned, strolling at somewhat leisurely pace toward the blacksmith. They walked in companionable silence until they reached the first grouping of houses and he paused, turning to her, “Have you been having any trouble adjusting to life outside the Circle, Your Worship?”

She stopped abruptly, staring uncomfortably at something over his shoulder. When she did not answer right away, he gently leaned into her field of vision and smiled kindly. He watched as her brows knit together, a look of uneasiness returning once more to her delicate features. Trying to reassure her, he said, “T’is a perfectly natural thing, my lady. You’ve lived your entire life in the confines of the circle. I myself have days in which I struggle with it.”

“Truly?” she replied, clearly more than slightly surprised by his answer.

He nodded, smiling gently, “You needn’t have an escort while in camp, you are the Herald after all.”

She seemed conflicted, pursing her lips as her gaze fell to the ground. She was studying his boots with great intent when Cullen recalled an earlier discussion they’d had not long after she’d woken, in which he’d expressed his sentiment that mages should not be wandering willy-nilly through the camp.  _I need to remember to not run at the mouth about mages in her presence. What she must think of me?_ he thought ruefully as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Has this to do with our conversation shortly after we met, my lady?”

“I—er, well,” she said, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

He sighed heavily and looked her straight in the eyes, “Forgive me, that comment was unworthy of me. Although, as an aside, I’ll admit I often forget that you are a mage.”

A smirk spread across her lips now and she quipped, “I shall remember you said that, Commander.”

“Maker’s breath,” he groused playfully with a smile, “I’m sure you will.”

They resumed walking and, after a few moments of awkward silence, he said, “You shouldn’t let her treat you that way, by the by.”

“She’s a First Enchanter—”

“And a damned _busybody_ ,” Cullen insisted, cutting her off as soon as he saw her reasoning. “Further, she’s not _your_ First Enchanter, so you shouldn’t give a fig _what_ she says.”

She regarded him in amused silence for a few beats before answering, “I shall take that under advisement, Commander.”

He grinned lopsidedly and motioned to the path ahead, “Shall we?”

She nodded and they continued along the path past the residences and toward the gate which led to the training yard and the blacksmith beyond.

“You…seemed upset when you arrived today,” Cullen began hesitantly, “Is everything all right?”

“This business with the Templars is deeply troubling,” she admitted quietly. “I feel like the pillars of the Chantry are crumbling from beneath it, Cullen.”

“I don’t know what brought Lord Seeker Lucius to this ridiculous course of action,” he replied, stopping to turn and look at her, “but I can tell you, I know my peers from the Order. Many are likely questioning his sanity or, at the very least, regretting they followed him. If we can find them and make contact, I know you could convince them to join us.”

“You really have so much faith in me?”

“I do,” he admitted.

They lapsed into an awkward silence as they continued the last dozen or so steps to the blacksmith and, when they arrived, Cullen quietly excused himself to discuss his repair with Harritt. As he did so, Mnemyn amused herself by leafing through the book of schematics she’d helped the Inquisition accumulate. Several minutes later, his business concluded, Cullen appeared at her side, curious as to what she was doing. 

He was impressed to find she was examining a new coat pattern, scrutinizing it rather intently in fact, and Cullen imagined she was trying to determine if it had enough pockets for potions and reagents. He couldn’t help notice the way she’ d twitched her mouth to the side as she weighed pros and cons of the new piece. He had to admit, this little quirk was rather adorable.

“May I make a suggestion, my lady?” he offered in a low tone.

She had been so absorbed in her thoughts, she started slightly at hearing his voice so close to her. Nevertheless, she recovered quickly and cast an interested look over her shoulder at him with a genial smile, “Of course.”

“You may find this may suit your needs better,” he replied, reaching past her to flip to a different schematic, pointing to the new drawing of a shorter, armored buff-jacket, “This will give you greater range of motion with your staff.”

He drew her attention to the stylized breastplate, pauldrons, rerebraces, and gauntlets, “With an added benefit of armoring to protect you against things like thrown knives and arrows.”

“How do you know so much—” she blushed, realizing the answer before she finished her query, “forgive me, I’ve apparently forgotten you were a templar, Commander.”

“And I,” Cullen retorted dryly, recalling her smart remark just moments ago, “shall endeavor to remember that, my lady.”

She laughed softly, a sweet, tinkling sound, while her gaze lingered on him for what seemed like forever. Cullen felt himself sweating while his heart thundered in his chest. He also felt his cheeks burning crimson but, somehow, he managed a somewhat awkward smile When she finally returned to perusing the new design, pursing her lips as she considered the new drawing, Cullen let out the breath he’d been holding.

His hand still rested near the edge of the drawing and, as she bent to observe a particular detail, her left hand came to rest gently on his own. He stared at their hands, her touch sending chills sparking across his skin. Surprised, he sucked in a breath, which caused her to turn toward him, a look of concern writ across her face, “Are you quite all right, Commander?”

“Yes, I—” he felt his mouth suddenly go dry and nervously reached to rub the back of his neck with his free hand, “it was a chill, nothing more.”

She nodded, although her concerned gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she turned back to the page. Nodding a second time, as though she’d decided something, she turned to smile at him and said, “I think this shall do splendidly. Thank you, Cullen.”

His blush deepened at her use of his name and he mumbled, “I, uh, should return to my duties.”

A look of what he thought was disappointment briefly flickered across her features before she smiled genially, “Of course.”

He took a few slow steps backward and then turned to leave. As he did so, he nearly tripped over Varric who stood leaning against the stone fence which surrounded the blacksmith. Immediately Cullen noticed the dwarf was smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary and groaned inwardly. _This will not end well_ , he thought sourly as he sidestepped Messere Tethras. Before departing, he shot Varric a dirty look and then marched off toward the training yard in a huff. 

Meanwhile, much to Varric’s dismay, Mnemyn hadn’t noticed he and Cullen’s brief but amusing exchange because she was already chatting excitedly with Harritt about new armor. As he waited patiently for her to conclude her business, Varric returned to leaning against a stone pillar while humming tunelessly to himself.

As the Herald turned to leave, she stopped short when caught sight of him, clearly confused by his presence, “Varric?”

“Hello, Herald,” the dwarf in question returned smoothly.

“I thought you didn’t need to visit the ‘smithy?” she asked.

“Oh I didn’t,” he said mysteriously, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside her.  He glanced toward the training yard where Cullen was doing his best not to look at them, “I thought I’d see how you and Curly were getting on.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly not understanding whom he was referencing, and so Varric explained, “Our esteemed Commander Cullen.”

Mnemyn was now staring at Varric as if he’d grown a second head. He chuckled and explained, “Ah that’s right, you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing that particular characteristic the Commander’s just yet. I won’t spoil the surprise.”

He watched as her eyebrows inched ever closer to her hairline, a look of confusion in her eyes, “Thanks, I guess?”

Varric grinned wider still, “So, you and Cullen seem to be very close these days…”

A deep scarlet blush spread across her cheeks and all the way up to the tips of her ears. Varric’s grin widened at this and she said quickly in a low tone, “I _don’t_ know what you mean, Messere Tethras.”

“Oh come now, Herald, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Varric soothed, “we’re all adults here.”

She gave him a rather owlish look and insisted nervously, “It’s not like that. _Really_.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Varric said with a shrug. When she remained silent, he added, “You know, I’ve known Curly for a few years. He’s a good sort, if a bit stiff at times.”

She blanched, turning toward him and blurted out, “You’re not going to say something, are you?”

“Me? Never,” Varric replied smoothly, trying his best to affect a look of sincerity and earnestness. _Oh this is_ great, he thought to himself, _not only did she just more or less admit she’s in love with him, she knows he doesn’t know she has the hots for him._

This seemed to puzzle her, and she scrutinized him with a suspicious look as she asked, “Then why bring it up?”

He stopped, looking at her and said very frankly, “We’ve all got our little quirks, I suppose. Mine happens to be making sure my friends are happy. And you, my dear Herald, deserve more than anyone to be happy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admitted.

“I say if the Commander does it for you, go for it,” he insisted, grinning broadly. They’d reached the crest of the incline that led up to the leadership’s residences, coming to a stop not far from the spot Varric had been camping. Mnemyn watched him warily as he made his way to stand near the campfire, a look of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Uhm, thanks,” she replied, clearly embarrassed. She shuffled from foot to foot for a moment before hooking her thumb over her shoulder, “I’m just, yeah… I’ll see you at supper, Varric.”

And with that, she tore off in the direction of the Chantry at a quick pace. He chuckled to himself, _Humans can sure make shit harder than it has to be sometimes_.


	8. Honor and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald prepares to depart for the Storm Coast to recruit some mercenaries. While away, she sends a letter sealed and specifically addressed to Cullen. This earns him a great deal of teasing and well-meaning prodding from Leliana which, eventually, forces the Commander to reconcile with his warring emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction based on Bioware's Dragon Age series of video games. I do not own the characters nor the setting; Bioware does. In no way do I seek to gain anything or profit from the use of these characters, I use them only to entertain.
> 
> A/N: My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.

_Haven, Justinian 10, Dragon 9:41_

The Herald and the Inquisition’s advisors stood gathered around the war table, the topic of discussion was their next tactical foray into the aptly named Storm Coast. Some weeks ago, they’d been solicited by mercenary Captain who invited the Inquisition to come see his company fight. Cullen wasn’t entirely thrilled by the idea of hiring mercenaries, as their Captains often had enormous egos and grandiose ideas of how things should be done.  Separately, either flaw could be extremely damaging to any operation but together, they generally led to shenanigans and, sometimes, ones that held very real and life threatening consequences.

Thanks to the Chantry’s near constant propaganda, their recruiting efforts had leveled off dramatically. So when Josephine confirmed they did have the coin to pay the mercenary company should the Herald see fit to employ them, Cullen had to grudgingly admit they needed all the help they could get. Planning for the trip progressed rather quickly once he’d given his approval. 

While Leliana directed Mnemyn’s attention to several other problems in the region, to include a squad of Inquisition soldiers gone missing, Cullen couldn’t help but watch the Herald’s reactions. She’d always displayed such compassion for her fellow man, which he deeply admired about her, and even now she was expressing concern for the soldiers and their families. He watched as she put her hands on her hips, vowing to find the missing soldiers; Cullen had no doubt she’d deliver on that promise, too.

When the meeting adjourned, the Herald assembled her team and made ready to depart immediately. Cullen had to force himself to remain behind in the war room because Leliana, much to his dismay, had been dropping subtle hints that she suspected he had feelings for the Herald. And he really didn’t want to give her any more ammunition with which to tease him. Part of him wanted to say to the Void with what Leliana thought, but pragmatism won out and Cullen instead busied himself with reading the latest intelligence from eastern Ferelden.

Shortly before luncheon, he heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. Cullen had been standing half bent over the table, his right hand braced on the map and a map marker in the other, scrutinizing the area surrounding Crestwood. Leliana's agents had reported the village besieged by undead and the Commander had been looking for the best potential route to approach it. He was so absorbed in thought, he hadn’t heard whomever now stood in the doorway approach. He looked up to see Mnemyn leaning against the door jam, her arms crossed over her chest and an extremely amused grin tugging at her lips, “I’d wondered where you got off to.”

“Herald, I thought you—did you need me for something?”

Cullen felt his breath hitch as a playful yet somewhat wicked expression flickered across her features briefly while she considered her answer. He dropped the map marker as he watched her push off the door frame and slowly meander – or, from where he was standing, saunter – around the table. Mnemyn’s smile now turned to a smirk as she came to stand beside him, “Actually, I just came to say farewell. We’re riding out after the noonday meal.”

“Oh,” he replied, swallowing hard as once again he felt completely breathless at her nearness.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to take a break and join us in the mess tent?”

Cullen considered her question briefly and was about to balk when she quirked a brow at him, her hands settling on her hips, “Now that I think on it, Leliana said you’ve been skipping meals. Is this true?”

“I, well… sometimes,” he admitted, his brows knitting together in discomfort. As Mnemyn gave him a disapproving frown, he came to the realization that he probably skipped more meals than he should. _Rylen would have been ever so happy to have overheard this conversation,_ he thought to himself, _thankfully he’s not here, else I’d never hear the end of it._

Mnemyn hummed and motioned toward the door, “Then I suggest you get a move on, Commander.”

Cullen had been so caught up in his own internal monologue that he’d barely registered what Mnemyn had said to him. Clearly confused, he asked, “What? Go where?”

“You. Me. Mess tent. _Now_ ,” she said firmly but not unkindly, slipping her hand into his and tugging him toward the door, “I simply cannot afford to have our Commander becoming ill because he’s not taking care of himself properly.”

Cullen felt a myriad of emotions ranging from elation and desire to shock and nervousness as Mnemyn dragged him toward the war room door. He found all he could do was stare completely gob smacked at his hand in her own as she led him out into the main hall of the Chantry.

As his wits slowly returned to him, his heart still thundering in his chest, he realized several ley sisters, clerics, and, unfortunately, nobility, saw them walking hand in hand and Cullen had to wonder what the price of him attempting to skip lunch today would cost them both later. He didn’t have much opportunity to continue strategizing how to spin this little episode, as Mnemyn’s voice dragged him back to the present.

“Is Knight-Captain Rylen well?” she asked conversationally, gingerly releasing his hand as she fell into step beside him, “I haven’t seen him since I returned.”

Cullen smiled at the Herald’s concern and answered, “He is. I’ve sent him to the Hinterlands to oversee the construction of the watchtowers for the Redcliff farmers.”

“Oh,” she remarked in surprise.

“Rylen is well versed in problem solving as well as engineering,” Cullen explained as he opened the massive door of the Chantry for her, waiting as she slipped out into the noonday sun ahead of him before following, “If anyone can see the job done properly and promptly, it will be him.”

“I look forward to visiting the completed structures,” she replied brightly.

“I’m sure he’ll be most pleased to hear that, my lady,” Cullen replied. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, groaning inwardly as he struggled to think of some topic with which to continue making small talk. Thankfully, the mess tent wasn’t far and the silence that’d descended over them was blessedly short. As she strode into the bustling mobile eatery, she announced, “Look who I found hiding in the war room.”

Cullen snorted at her side, rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t hiding. I was planning.”

“Right, planning,” Varric replied sarcastically, drawing out both words for effect, “Well, you’re here now, Curly, grab some grub.”

As he motioned for Mnemyn to go first, she gave him a courteous half-bow and said, “Why thank you, Ser.”

To say lunch with the Herald and her crew was boisterous would be a supreme understatement. How four people could carry on so, Cullen wasn’t sure, though he had to admit, they were quite an entertaining bunch to with which to share a meal. It was hard not to notice how the quadruplet had bonded in just three months of travelling together. He smiled watching in amusement as they sniped and japed at one another; to an outsider, they might’ve appeared as though they were family of a sort.

Cassandra and Mnemyn sat beside one another, presenting a united front against Varric who was, unsurprisingly, dishing out smart remarks and embarrassing anecdotes almost faster than Cullen could keep up with. Solas sat quietly at the end of the table reading an overlarge, bookworm eaten tome. Occasionally, he would chime in with a smart remark of his own or to remind Varric he was over embellishing a particular detail to make the subject look entirely over the top.

Much to his dismay, their meal was over sooner than he’d have liked which left him sorry he hadn’t joined them in the first place. Cassandra began marshalling the group toward the makeshift stables, snapping at Varric to hurry up when he took a little too much time heading toward the tent flaps; the Seeker would suffer no dawdling, it seemed.

Both he and Mnemyn followed her crew out onto the path where stopped to stand at his side, watching as her three companions tripped down the lane toward the horse paddock. Varric and Cassandra sniped at one another the entire way while Solas sighed a long suffering sigh of defeat. As Cullen struggled to come up with an appropriate way to bid the Herald goodbye, his stomach in knots and tongue thoroughly tied, an awkward silence stretched between he and the Herald.

“The ride there should be a fairly uneventful one,” Mnemyn remarked, clearly catching a hint of worry in his expression. “But I’ll send regular updates from the road of course.”

He was still far too worried he’d say something completely inappropriate if he allowed himself to speak, so instead, he merely smiled and nodded in reply.

“Be well, Cullen,” she said gently, her hand coming to rest on his rerebrace. He glanced down at her hand and then back up to meet her gaze, a smile tugging at his lips. She shot him a lopsided grin and, poking an accusatory finger gently against his breastplate, she teased, “And don’t let me hear you’ve been skipping meals else I’ll be rather cross with you upon my return.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied quietly, “Be safe…”

She shot him a sunny smile and saluted, “I always am.”

* * *

 

During the two weeks she was on the road, Mnemyn sent back short progress reports every evening as she and her team made camp. The third evening, Leliana sent a runner to inform Cullen there was a note included specifically addressed to him. When he arrived at her tent, the intrepid spymaster was leaning casually against her planning table while adeptly rolling the sealed missive across the backs of the fingers of her left hand.

Cullen sighed to himself before stepping into the tent, quietly bracing himself for the razzing he was about to receive, “Good evening, Leliana. Your messenger said there was a report for me?”

“Not a report, Commander,” the former bard said amusedly, artfully flourishing the letter as she spoke, “a sealed missive written in our Lady Herald’s own hand.”

“I’m sure it’s a question about field tactics or armor,” he replied stiffly, holding out his hand for the letter.

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Leliana replied amusedly, her smile turning into a smirk as she gingerly laid the letter in his gloved palm. As he began to close his fingers around it, she deftly snatched it away, her grey eyes dancing with mischief, “Have you noticed the way she looks at you, Commander?”

“No, and _neither have you_ ,” Cullen replied darkly, his tone full of warning.

The Nightingale hummed, tapping her chin with the envelope, “Oh, come now, Commander. I think you would make a positively lovely couple…”

“Maker’s Breath, Leliana!” Cullen half growled, “It’s _nothing._ And even if it were, I am honor bound to ignore it; she’s noble born…”

“And a mage who, as you well know, had to forfeit any lands and titles the moment her magic manifested,” Leliana reminded him sharply. When Cullen refused to bite, the former bard slanted him an annoyed look before pressing the letter into his still outstretched hand, “What harm is there in indulging your heart, Commander?”

“Our lady’s reputation for one,” he muttered, snatching the letter away and tucking it into his tunic before she had the chance to pull it away again. All the while, he gave Leliana an extremely stern look, “Just let it go.”

“Very well,” Leliana replied airily, crossing her arms as she regarded him with an impish smile. “I shall. For now.”

Cullen glared at Leliana for a few moments before briskly turning on his heel to retreat to the privacy of his cottage. The entire way there, both his heart and mind raced as he wondered why Mnemyn would send him a sealed message. Had he been too forward during their visit to the blacksmith? Had she spoken to Varric regarding what the dwarf had written about Cullen’s own parts peppered throughout the _Tale of the Champion_?

As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, Cullen broke the seal and opened the letter. He took a deep breath to calm himself and then began to read.

 

_Dear Cullen,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. We have made excellent progress on our journey and I am happy to report everyone is safe. Varric is extremely unsettled by the severity of the weather as we approach the coast which leaves Cassandra and I to wonder if there’s anywhere in Thedas our dwarven friend can tolerate._

_I know this might sound odd but I felt the need to write to you. Since our last conversation, I’ve been unable to think of little else. I want you to know that I trust you, Cullen. You have always been unflinchingly honest as well as incredibly kind to me and I cherish that about our friendship. However, I find myself pondering how I, a mage, would ever be able to convince the Templars to join our cause. You must see something in me that I do not…_

_Almost all of the Templars present in Val Royeaux looked upon me with such derision and disgust. To say it was very disheartening would be an understatement, especially since I have known so many good templars over the course of my life – you included. I cannot believe the Order has become rife with brutish, close-minded individuals._

_With that said, I must admit that I agree with your position and have for some time; the Order would be the far safer option for closing the Breach. I know Sister Nightingale and Ambassador Montilyet will be disappointed by this news, but I neither agree with how my peers separated from the Chantry nor how they continue to wage open warfare in the midst of this crisis; they are hurting countless innocents._

_While I am away, can you work to discover where the Order has gone to ground? I want to extend an offer to entreat with the Templars. I know it shall not be an easy task but if anyone can accomplish this, it’d be you. I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts on my proposal. May the Maker watch over you._

_Warmest regards,_

_Mnemyn_

Cullen felt his heart thundering in his chest as he finished reading Mnemyn’s letter; she considered him a trusted friend. That she agreed with him about meeting with the Templar Order and convincing them to help close the Breach seemed almost unimportant in comparison. He leaned back against the door, smiling contentedly to himself as he re-read her letter.

Tucking the note into his tunic once again, he turned to the small writing desk near the door where he retrieved a sheaf of paper and began to pen his response.

_Herald,_

_I am extremely humbled and honored by your kind words; I am most pleased to learn you consider me a trusted friend. To say that I feel the same would be an understatement._ _I must admit, I am equally dismayed by the current developments regarding the Order. I have an inkling as to where the Lord Seeker may be taking the Order and I shall follow up on this hunch immediately. I will send word as soon as I know anything._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

* * *

 

In the late afternoon of 26 Justinian, Cullen watched in anticipation as a raven arrived from parts unknown. He’d known Mnemyn would be reporting in soon and had been pacing agitatedly near the rookery, his stomach in knots. Leliana barely had time to read the message before Cullen claimed it, snatching it from her hands.

Taking a few steps away from the spymaster, who was now loudly protesting his pilfering of her report with a great deal of annoyance at his back, “Commander! Honestly you could not have waited a moment longer?”

When he ignored her and instead began to read, finally letting out the breath he’d been holding when he saw it was written in Mnemyn’s elegant handwriting. Leliana was even more annoyed now and tried reaching past him to retrieve the parchment. Not looking up from Mnemyn’s note, he caught the Nightingale by the shoulder and held her fast at arm’s length. She squirmed, swinging her hand at the note to no avail, “Commander!”

Cullen chuckled, still not looking at her, “I’m almost done, be patient.”

The contents of the letter were as he expected; Mnemyn and her team arrived safely at Scout Lace Harding’s base camp and, after a meal, they’d head out to find this Iron Bull character. Varric was, as usual, moaning about the weather, the terrain, and pebbles in his boots, while Cassandra had, unsurprisingly, threatened to have him flogged if he didn’t stop whining. The last line of the missive was the one he was waiting for, _Tell the Commander I sit on pins and needles awaiting any news of his progress on his mission._

Leliana shot him a lopsided grin as she deftly shot past him to snatch the note back, “If I didn’t know better, Commander, I’d think someone was eagerly awaiting the Herald’s correspondence.”

“Of course I am,” he replied airily with a smirk, “the Herald’s safety is of my utmost concern.”

“I’ll inform you should we receive any more news today, Commander,” Leliana rolled her eyes and shooed him away. Smiling, Cullen thanked her and headed back to the training yard with an unmistakable spring in his step.

At her side, Charter chuckled under her breath. Leliana turned to look at the younger woman, a smile tugging at her lips, “Problems?”

“No, m’lady,” Charter said with a grin, “Although I believe the Commander has a serious case of Spring Fever.”

Leliana snorted, quickly covering her mouth with a gloved hand, “Yes after a fashion, I suppose. Do not let him hear you say that, hm?”

“Perish the thought, Sister Nightingale,” Charter replied as she returned to copying reports.

Sometime before midnight, there was a knock at his door. Yawning, Cullen rolled out of bed to answer it. It was one of Sister Leliana’s runners, a petite blonde Orlesian elf whose name he could not recall. She smiled and handed him a note before curtsying and excusing herself. Shutting the door, Cullen opened it to find this letter was written by Cassandra to inform them that the Herald had indeed hired The Iron Bull and his Chargers.

Although Cullen still had reservations about mercenaries, Mnemyn had proven she was more than capable of making sound decisions which, even if he didn’t always see the immediate payoff, often reaped benefits for the Inquisition in the long run. With regard to the Qunari and his company, only time would tell if Iron Bull was as good as he’d boasted.

He sighed and tucked the note into a book on his bedside table before retreating back under the covers. She’d be home in two weeks Maker willing, safe and sound, he told himself. He lay there for quite some time, listening to the crackling of the fire banked in the fireplace while staring at the ceiling. He sighed heavily, draping his arm over his eyes as he wrestled with his emotions.

Despite himself, Cullen grudgingly admitted it was impossible to deny he cared deeply for Mnemyn and, against his better judgement, he found himself not caring what people thought. Although he loathed to admit it, Leliana had been right; their difference in station didn’t really matter. The question remained, however, did Mnemyn feel the same way about him? As he rolled up on his elbow to blow out the candle, he decided he’d have to devise a strategy in order to broach the subject with her sooner or later.

That, he decided, could wait for another day. He felt sleep begin to take him now and eased back onto his pillow with a smile. Much to his surprise, sleep came easier to him tonight and, as he drifted off to the Fade, his last thoughts were of Mnemyn.

 


	9. Varric Tethras, Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is confronted by Varric after spending time with the Herald. Messere Tethras attempts to enlighten the Commander, hoping to nudge his cantankerous friend into action. Hilarity ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, Bioware does. I in no way wish to profit off their works; this story is sheerly for entertainment.
> 
> My Inquisitor's name Mnemyn, is pronounced Nem-MIN.
> 
> A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to give you guys a heads up: my Spring term begins in five days. While I definitely intend to keep posting - I have so much material written it's kind of scary at this point - posts may slow down a bit until I get into the swing of things, so to speak. Also, if you're enjoying this story, please consider leaving comments. I'd really love some feedback... I know the story gets a great deal of traffic but I'm not sure if everyone enjoys it or if there's something I could be doing better. And many thanks to those who left kind comments, they were much appreciated! Thanks for reading!

_Haven, Solace 13, Dragon 9:41_

The second morning after the Herald and her team returned from the Storm Coast, Cullen happened to catch sight of Mnemyn and Varric walking briskly toward the blacksmith. He assumed she was going to inquire if her new armor was finished. As she turned the corner into the fenced in yard that comprised blacksmith Harritt’s workshop, Cullen’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the sway of her hips. He found his mouth suddenly go dry and had to turn away for fear someone’d catch him ogling her.

Granted, he was ogling her. _What has gotten into me as of late_ , he wondered. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Cullen scrubbed his hands over his face. This was becoming intolerable and he could not reconcile his feelings with his duty to the Inquisition. _This has to stop_ , he reasoned, _it is inappropriate at best_. The little voice in the back of his consciousness spoke up now, reminding him that he hadn’t felt this happy in over a decade. _The heart wants what the heart wants_ , it said. And then, adding insult to injury it added, _Also, no sex in over a decade tends to do this to a person_. _Perhaps if you’d,_ you know… _more often…_

Cullen groaned inwardly, hanging his head in defeat as he came to the realization he’d just have to let this infatuation – for that is what it was, he decided firmly – run its course. He turned, forcing himself to focus on supervising the new recruits, and, try as he might, found himself still struggling to keep her out of his thoughts.

He became so absorbed with his internal bickering over his believed impropriety that he didn’t see the woman in question draw near on the path behind him. He did, however, hear a horse whicker and turned to see Mnemyn bringing a gentle grey bow-backed mare to a halt just a few steps from him.

“Commander,” she said greeting him with bright smile and a nod.

“Mnem—er, _Herald_ ,” he began to reply before correcting himself.

Her smile widened and her blue-green eyes twinkled with mischief, “Cullen, I’d like to think we have a good enough working relationship that you can call me by my first name. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He raised a brow at her in curiosity. Although he had nearly slipped and called her by her birth name, which flummoxed him to no end, he decided that under no circumstance would he be referring to her in such a casual manner. His brows knit together, he replied quietly, “That…would be improper, Your Worship.”

“Very well, Herald it is.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed. Feeling his cheeks burning slightly with blush, he decided to change the subject, “Out for a ride this fine morning?”

“Yes,” she beamed at him, reaching down to pat the grey mare, who whickered appreciatively, before explaining, “it seemed a good day for it. And after my last adventure on a horse…”

He raised both eyebrows at her, looking at her in concern as he waited expectantly for her to finish. Mnemyn smiled sheepishly and continued, “On our way to the Storm Coast, we encountered some bandits and I was unhorsed.”

“Ah. Say no more,” he nodded, immediately understanding. Being thrown from the saddle could be most unpleasant he knew. Suddenly it occurred to him that he alone might be the only person in camp with advanced riding training. He reasoned it wouldn’t stand for the Herald to be hurt, not if he could prevent it, so he asked, “May I offer my services, my lady? As a Templar, I’ve received some rather rigorous equestrian combat training.”

“Your help would be most welcome, Commander,” she smiled, “but won’t I be taking you away from more important duties?”

“Not at all,” Rylen called out from across the yard. Cullen turned to give his second a sharp look, receiving only a cheeky smile from Rylen in return. Sighing, Cullen turned and beaconed her to follow him.

“Has anything interesting occurred in my absence?” she asked, swinging down from the saddle so that she might walk beside him. The mare whickered again and bunted her in the side as if to say, _don’t forget me_! Mnemyn smirked at the horse and took the reins, leading the mare along behind them.

Cullen nodded and answered, “Interesting, no, and for that I’m thankful.”

“Oh?” she remarked in surprise.

“Interesting usually equates to trouble,” Cullen explained with a chuckle as he briskly made a beeline for the horse paddock, “I did receive a letter from my eldest sister, however.”

“Is your family well?”

“Yes, although Mia’s letter was not a terribly happy one,” Cullen replied uncomfortably, “It seems she’s rather cross with me.”

“Why?”

“I…may have neglected to tell her I left Kirkwall.”

“Cullen,” Mnemyn admonished him mildly, “She must be sick with worry.”

He drew in a deep breath before exhaling heavily, “Yes and no. I’ve…never been particularly good at keeping her apprised of my change in assignments over the years.”

Mnemyn’s eyebrows rose slightly as she looked at him but remained silent. Cullen could see she didn’t approve but either she didn’t wish to share these feelings or she wanted to spare his own, which he couldn’t tell.

As he arrived at their destination, Cullen paused, frowning as he saw what passed for warhorses. Hopefully once Rylen’s men completed the watchtowers, Mnemyn would be able to charm Dennet into joining them. And soon. These animals barely passed for horses let alone battle hardened war steeds.

They made pleasant, if not awkward, small talk as the stable hand readied a mare for him. Inwardly, Cullen was desperately trying to tamp down the butterflies that had suddenly invaded his stomach.  As he swung into the saddle and wheeled the horse to bring it alongside her, asking in a tone much braver than he felt, “Shall we?”

* * *

The lesson went very smoothly and Cullen was completely unsurprised to find Mnemyn already a very capable rider. She was, after all, the daughter of a Bann and would very likely have had lessons as a young woman. He certainly could not complain about her eagerness to learn, either. He found she worked very hard to apply what he was teaching her, often insisting she repeat a maneuver even after he himself had deemed her execution of it satisfactory.

After about an hour and a half, they rode back toward the camp, their faces ruddy from the frigid mountain air and Cullen’s heart a great deal lighter than it had been before they’d left. He couldn’t help himself from stealing a few fleeting glances at her as they rode along and, to his surprise, he noticed she was smiling rather contentedly.

He wondered if her good mood was on account of the time they spent together or if she was merely pleased with the lesson. Immediately, Cullen became annoyed with himself over the selfishness of his thoughts and chided himself for harboring any hope something would ever happen between them. _Besides_ , he thought ruefully, _why would the she be remotely interested in me? We are polar opposites._

Her voice jerked him out of his thoughts, “Thank you, Commander.”

Chuckling wryly, he replied, “You may thank me now, my lady, but I imagine after a few more days in the saddle, you might be cursing my name.”

Her blue-green eyes twinkled mischievously as she smiled, “I don’t believe _cursing_ your name was quite what I had in mind, no.”

She winked at him and before promptly putting her heels to the horse, charging off toward the paddock. He stared after her, cheeks aflame and mouth agape, for several seconds before his wits returned to him. _Maker’s breath_ , he thought, _so I wasn’t wrong thinking she’s been flirting with me? Perhaps I should reconsider…_ he thought to himself in surprise. Although, he stopped short of actually admitting he ought to pursue her.

By the time he caught up with her, she’d already dismounted and was chatting brightly with the stable boy while helping, much to the young man’s dismay, unsaddle the horse. He couldn’t help but notice she paused to look up, smiling as he drew near.  She waited as he dismounted and handed his horse over to the groom.  She was smiling shyly, her hands clasped behind her back, “So, tell me, Commander, am I a lost cause?”

“Certainly not, my lady,” he obliged, and then, for somewhat selfish reasons, added, “Though, I think to err on the side of caution, we’d best keep up the lessons for the time being.”

“Very well,” she grinned, bowing slightly, “I look forward to it. Would the same time tomorrow be acceptable?”

He nodded, returning the smile, “Of course.”

She grinned wider and bid him good day before striding off toward the Chantry. As usual, Cullen found himself watching her go, unable to take his eyes off her. He sighed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief at his own impropriety.

When she was out of earshot, he heard someone clear their throat from somewhere behind him.  He turned to see Varric regarding him with an extremely amused look. The dwarven deshyr hailed from Kirkwall, where Cullen had been stationed, and also happened to be good friends with the Champion whom Cullen was only mildly acquainted. Because of these two facts, Varric had insisted they be friends. ‘Any friend of Hawke’s is a friend of mine,’ he’d said.

Cullen wasn’t too keen on the idea. He had scarcely the time for socialization and little patience for most people. And, of course, there was the fact that Varric took a great deal of pleasure in telling him that he didn’t smile enough. He found the dwarf’s opinion rather ridiculous. He smiled when protocol deemed it was appropriate.

Cullen could tell Varric had clearly been watching his entire conversation with the Herald. Dimly, he hoped the dwarf hadn’t yet realized how he felt with regard Lady Trevelyan. That Varric was grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary didn’t bode well for him, he knew. The dwarf nodded in the direction the Herald had gone and, with an undertone of wistfulness, said, “She’s somethin’ isn’t she, Curly?”

“Yes,” Cullen agreed, clearing his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling extremely awkward and more than a bit vulnerable.

“You know Commander, I have it on good authority that the lady Herald is unattached,” Varric said conversationally, studying his nails.

Cullen glared at him and demanded, “And why would you think I’d be interested to know that tidbit of information, dwarf?”

“Come now, Commander,” Varric chided him, “everyone knows you’re all hot and bothered by the Herald.”

“I am n—what do you mean _everyone_?” Cullen sputtered fiercely.

“Hmm, let me think,” the dwarf grinned, tapping his chin, “Me, of course, and then there’s Scribbles, the Nightingale, Starkhaven… oh! and The Iron Bull. You know, he just got here and he’s already figured the two of you out.”

“Two…?” Cullen stared owlishly at him in disbelief. As the dwarf in question began to smirk at him, the Commander’s annoyance returned with a vengeance and he demanded acerbically, “What’re you on about, dwarf?”

“Uh, yeah,” Varric replied, smirking, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed she’s been reciprocating, what with all those doe-eyed looks she’s been giving you when she thinks no one’s looking—” Varric paused when he noted Cullen’s expression changed from surprise to shock, “Oh shit, you _haven’t_ noticed? Well, geez let me spell it out—”

“That won’t be necessary!” Cullen barked, his cheeks burning bright red. He tried to continue admonishing Varric but the confirmation that Mnemyn had feelings for him truly had him flustered, “The impropriety of your…inappropriate commentary is—is _improper_!”

His floundering seemed only to accomplish making Varric even more amused than he’d been before, although it was clear to Cullen the dwarf was at least trying very hard not to laugh. Grinning wider still, Varric, in a somewhat fatherly tone, said, “Look, I’m just giving you some friendly information, Commander. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

Cullen suddenly realized he was in way over his head and decided now would be a good time to make a hasty retreat. Muttering good day to the dwarf, he strode off huffily toward the training yard without so much as another word.

Seeker Pentaghast, who’d walking down the path from the alchemist’s cottage, sidled up to stand beside Varric and shot him a dirty look, “What have you done now, dwarf?”

He shrugged, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Oh the Herald seems to have Curly all a flutter. I thought I’d give him a little push.”

She made a disgusted noise and glowered down at him, “Do you honestly have nothing better to do than play pranks on the Commander?”

He put his hands up, and, as earnestly as he could manage, replied, “By Andraste’s flaming ass, I swear I _wasn’t_ teasing him, Seeker.”

She found her lip curling in disgust at his blasphemy but, before she could chide him over it, the realization of what he’d said hit Cassandra like a ton of bricks. She shot him wide-eyed look of surprise and asked, astonished, “Truly?”

“Yep,” Varric grinned, crossing his arms and smiling smugly as he watched Cullen put his troops through a grueling practice, “Love is in the air.”

Hearing her sigh, Varric turned to look up at her and, as he did, Cassandra straightened immediately. He could have sworn, for the briefest of moments, she had been smiling almost wistfully. Now, however, she leveled a positively virulent glare at him and snapped, “Leave it _alone_ , Varric. We have more than enough to deal with without you playing matchmaker.”

“Aww, you’re no fun, Seeker!” he called after her as she marched off toward Haven’s Chantry. Huffing out a sigh and began to follow her, muttering under his breath, “Andraste’s tits, somebody’s got to do it… those two’ll _never_ shack up otherwise.”

* * *

Cullen returned to his cottage sometime well after sunset, sweaty and exhausted from another long bout in the training yard. He’d started sometime after he’d partaken dinner in the mess tent – he’d been taking Mnemyn’s threat regarding not eating fairly seriously – and continued beating the stuffing out of several training dummies well into the evening. Judging by where the moon hung in the sky, he guessed it was nearly nine.

“How many dummies did ye destroy this time?”

“Too few,” Cullen remarked dryly as he set about removing his armor.

“Still angry with Messere Tethras I take it?” Rylen asked mildly as he began banking the fire for the evening. When Cullen snorted but said nothing further on the subject, Rylen turned to nod toward the Commander’s desk, “Then perhaps some news from your family will cheer you.”

“Mia’s written again?”

“Aye,” Rylen said, “t’was just delivered a half hour ago in the evening post.”

Cullen finished removing his gorget and breastplate, hanging both on his armor stand before retrieving the letter. Leaning casually against the desk, Cullen smiled as he read some news about his nephew. Rylen, who’d now turned to making tea, crossed the room to hand him a mug.

Cullen nodded his thanks as he took the mug in hand, “Apparently Mia’s been teaching my nephew to play chess.”

“Won’t be long before the lad’s beating the pants off his beloved uncle, I’d wager,” Rylen chuckled as he sat cross legged before the hearth, gently placing his mug on the floor close at hand.

Cullen shot him a mock-annoyed look before turning to the second page, a frown creasing the corners of his mouth. Rylen, who was now shining his boots, looked up to see Cullen’s brows furrowed, a look of what could only be described as regret writ across his face. “Is everything all right, Cul?”

The man in question sighed, folding the letter and tucking it into a world worn duffle bag which hung on the back of the door. Placing his hands on his hips, he stared at the floor in consternation for a moment before answering, “Oh, she’s still quite cross I’ve not written since Kirkwall. And equally angry, although completely unsurprised, that I’ve deliberately put myself at the epicenter of yet another potentially disastrous conflict.”

“I’d be more’n a little cranky m’self if my brother didnae write in, oh I’m guessin’ in at least two or three years,” Rylen snorted as he continued to brush and buff his second boot. Pausing to check his handiwork with a grin, he continued, “Though I know you had ye’re reasons.”

Cullen scrubbed his hands over his face and then dragged his fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh of what could only be described as relief. _At least she knows where I am now_ , he thought ruefully, _though that won’t stop them worrying over me._

Sitting down on the edge of his cot, he began to remove his greaves followed in short order by his boots. The silence that stretched between he and Rylen was uncomfortable at best. Finally, the gregarious Starkhavener remarked, “At least you’ll have some good news to write home about…”

“Oh?”

Rylen rolled his eyes, “Ye’re blossoming romance?”

Cullen made a disgusted noise and stood, dropping his boots at the foot of his bed before hanging the last bits of his armor on the stand. He skulked over to the desk, where he’d left his mug of tea, and leaned back to regard Rylen with an unreadable expression.

“Ye’re gonna hafta admit it sometime, ye stubborn git,” Rylen continued as he scrutinized his remaining boot. Satisfied, he sat it gently aside and took a sip of tea, “What’s the worst that could happen? Eh?”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose as if to say, _alright, I’ll play your game_ , and he began to tick off a list on his free hand, “ _She_ could die, _I_ could die, we could _all_ die, the _world_ could _end_ —Shall I continue?”

“E’er the optimist, I see,” Rylen retorted dryly with a sigh, shaking his head. He stared at the floor for a moment, seeming to consider something before getting to his feet, grumbling under his breath as it took a little longer than he’d have liked to straighten up. He crossed the room and clapped his hand on Cullen’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes, “You’n me, we’ve seen our fair share of tragedy an’ pain. You deserve t’find some happiness, Cul. There is nothin’ wrong in wantin’ t’love an’ be loved in r’turn.”

Cullen regarded him with uncertainty for a moment before arguing, “She’s the Herald—”

“Ahh-ahh,” Rylen tut-tutted him, “Andraste herself was married t’Maferath so y’can’t use that as an excuse.”

Cullen shot him a mildly sullen look for a moment and opened his mouth to argue once more but Rylen cut him off again, “Ye’re gonna give me dozens o’ excuses why you cannae have a relationship with that lovely girl, an’ I can tell ye right now, I’m gonna shoot ‘em all down. So why don’t you just admit what y’really want, eh? Save you, me, her, an’ e’erybody else a lot of stress, hm?”

His lips pursed, Cullen regarded Rylen in silence for some minutes. Admitting he loved Mnemyn was far more difficult than he’d anticipated, perhaps because it meant he’d have to lay his vulnerabilities bear. Then, of course, there was his past not to mention his battle with Lyrium withdrawal. _Would she even understand_ , he wondered. The voice in the back of his head answered, _you know she would. Mnemyn is, without a doubt, compassion incarnate._ Finally, he huffed out a sigh and replied in a quiet tone, “What if—what if I can’t do this, Rylen? What if my struggles with Lyrium—I couldn’t bear it if she…”

He stopped short, unable to even finish his thought, it hurt too much to even consider that outcome. He watched as Rylen studied his expression for a moment and gave his shoulder a squeeze, “T’is okay t’be scared, Cul. Love is terrifyin’ t’be quite honest…but, in the end, nothing is more worth yer time, trust me.”

Cullen held his friend’s gaze for a few beats before dropping his gaze to the floor, considering what Rylen had said. Several minutes passed before he nodded, having made up his mind, “You’re right.”

“I am?” Rylen sputtered, clearly not expecting his answer. Cullen shot him a lopsided grin and nodded to which Rylen laughed heartily, “Ohhh, I’m gonna remember this. Lemme write this down!”

Cullen laughed, watching Rylen turn to grab a sheet of paper, “Maker’s breath, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Not overmuch, no,” Rylen said, shooting him a cheeky grin as he scrawled something across the page.

Cullen rolled his eyes and then downed the last of his nearly cold tea, setting the mug aside before crossing the room to his bunk. As he climbed under the covers, he paused and called out, “Rylen?”

“Aye, Commander?” Rylen replied, folding the note and tucking it into a book at his bedside.

“Thank you.”

Rylen beamed a sunny smile at his friend as he, too, climbed into his bunk, “Think nothin’ of it, my friend.”

And with that, he turned to blow out the candle and both men settled in for the night. As Cullen drifted off to the Fade, a smile tugging at his lips, he realized that, for the first time in a long time, his soul and his heart felt a great deal lighter.


	10. Abandon Horse!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Orlesian nobility to agree to support their efforts in wooing the rogue Templar Order, The Herald mounts another foray into the Hinterlands. Legitimately having an errand there of his own, Commander Cullen suggests he tag along. His presence turns out to be rather fortuitous when a mundane mission goes horribly awry and Mnemyn is badly injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for deleting the original Chapter 10 but I think you'll all agree this version is greatly improved. I am extremely pleased with how it reads now. I'd like to dedicate this to and thank my editor, who, despite being deployed over seven thousand miles away, took the time to read, review, and send this back with excellent suggestions and words of encouragement. Without further adieu, please enjoy the new chapter!

_Haven, Solace 14, Dragon 9:41_

To say Leliana was not best pleased by Mnemyn’s change of heart on how to best close the Breach would be a supreme understatement. Ever the consummate professional, however, the former bard kept her opinions to herself once Mnemyn made it very clear this was the course of action she wished to pursue. During her two week return trek from the Storm Coast, Cullen had done his best to gather as much evidence and intelligence as he could on the movements of the Templar Order. What he’d uncovered was baffling at best. 

With the Herald freshly returned from her deployment, the Inquisition leadership now gathered around the war table, their goal: devise a strategy to accomplish the seemingly impossible task of recruiting the Templars.

“The templars must help us close the breach,” Cullen insisted firmly, “The Order was _founded_ to fight magic.”

“We must first convince the Lord Seeker to bring them out of exile,” Leliana said. As usual, she was the picture of calm: standing straight and tall, her hands clasped behind her back. Cullen watched as she glanced from person to person, subtly scrutinizing her companions’ expressions for any sign of dissent. 

“We’ve received word from several sources,” Cullen said, “they gather at Therinfal Redoubt.”

“It has been vacant for decades,” Cassandra said. “Why go there?” 

“I agree, it makes little sense,” Mnemyn said. Leaning in, she placed her palms on the planning table to scrutinize the map. Looking up at him, she asked, “Why go somewhere so secluded?”

“That remains unclear,” Cullen replied. “Whatever their reasoning, our reports say more templars arrive by the day.”

“We must approach the Lord Seeker again to get anywhere; we can ask him then,” Josephine said.

There was a slight undercurrent of annoyance to the ambassador’s voice and Cullen turned to look at her. It was very rare for her to be so exasperated, he knew, but he was in agreement with her. There was no reason to belabor the point, the deed was done. Now was not the time for speculation. Swift and decisive action was what this situation called for. 

“The Lord Seeker made it clear he isn’t interested in anyone ‘unimportant,’” Mnemyn said sharply. Cullen glanced up to see her scowling at Therinfal Redoubt’s place marker. By the way she seemed to be attempting to bore holes in the map with her eyes, he guessed she was still very angry with Lucius for embarrassing her in Val Royeaux.

“So we must change how he _sees_ us, no?” Leliana said. 

“If it’s status the Lord Seeker seeks, the Inquisition will approach him after allying with the noblest houses in Orlais,” Josephine said.

Leliana nodded in agreement, “They’ll come with us to Therinfal and demand the Templars help close the Breach.” 

“You believe that will work?” Cullen asked. He glanced up at Leliana with an air of uncertainty to which the former bard tipped him a slight nod in answer. Across the table, he heard Cassandra shift and when he turned to look at her, he saw she was smirking in a most self-satisfied manner.

“Even the Lord Seeker would find it difficult to ignore so many nobles on his doorstep,” she said. 

“Yes,” said Leliana, “especially when led by the Herald of Andraste.”

“Is it my good looks you need or my winning smile?” Mnemyn quipped wryly. Cullen watched as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms over her chest. _She seems annoyed_ , he thought. He wondered if it was because of the title Leliana and Josephine had saddled her with.

“Rumors you were saved from the Fade by Andraste have grown legion among the Templars,” Leliana said.

“We’ve done our part to encourage them,” Josephine said.

“The Herald and a few companions may be dismissed, easily set aside,” Leliana said, “That same Herald returning with noble support will be reconsidered, as will the power of the Inquisition.” 

Cullen watched as Mnemyn shot a hard look at Leliana, an undercurrent of something—possibly resentment—in her eyes. The tension in the room was palatable now and as an awkward silence began to build, he realized his earlier guess had been correct. Mnemyn hadn’t appreciated the Inquisition’s liberal bending of the truth with regard to how she garnered the mark on her hand. The former Left Hand met the Herald’s resolute gaze, her own expression unyielding.

Mnemyn was the first to look away, frowning as she brought one hand up to rest on her chin while she considered Leliana and Josephine’s proposal. Suddenly, she looked up to see him watching her. He was about to look away when he noticed she seemed relieved. Her eyebrows rose slightly and she flicked her gaze between he and Leliana as if to silently ask if he approved.

Truth be told, Cullen did not at all like the idea of involving nobility and that they were Orlesian made the situation far worse. Frowning slightly, he canted his head to the right hoping to affect that he, too, was unsure of this was a wise course of action.

Mnemyn tipped him a gentle nod in reply and turned to address the others. “Isn’t there the slightest chance the Lord Seeker will see my arrival as a threat?”

Cassandra half turned to regard Mnemyn with trepidation, the corners of her mouth creasing in a frown as she formulated a reply. “Before, I would have thought he was a man of reason. Now, I could not say.”

“With respect,” Cullen cut in sharply. He felt a sudden surge of anger at the remembrance of how Lucius had shown Mnemyn such disrespect in the Summer Market, the sudden need to defend and protect her rose from deep within his gut. His brow furrowed, he continued, “after his appearance in Val Royeaux, _hang_ what the Lord Seeker thinks.” 

“We do not need the Lord Seeker,” Leliana declared firmly, the comment clearly directed at him even though the former bard wasn’t even looking at him. Her grey, calculating gaze still fixed relentlessly on the Herald, she said, “We need his Templars, with or _without_ his approval. The Breach will not wait for our differences to settle.”

“Indeed,” Mnemyn replied, a steely edge to her voice. “Josephine, how soon shall we know of the nobility’s decision to support us?”

“Within a fortnight, Your Worship,” Josephine replied. 

“Very well,” Mnemyn replied. Cullen could see she was not best pleased by this answer but they had little choice but to wait. Folding her hands behind her at parade rest, she nodded to herself, seemingly deciding something before speaking up once again, “Commander Cullen has reported the watchtowers for the Redcliff farmers are nearing completion. While we wait on the nobility’s decision, my team and I shall take this opportunity to finish the final conditions of our agreement with Horsemaster Dennet.”

“What remains incomplete?” Josephine asked.

“The rift in the river valley,” Cassandra sighed, “we tried closing it before but the demons proved far too difficult to deal with at the time.”

“As I recall, we had to make a hasty retreat,” Mnemyn added. When the three advisors looked upon her questioningly, she explained, “We are far more skilled and much better outfitted now. Closing this rift should be easier this go ‘round.”

“While you are there, perhaps you can look into something my scouts reported?” Leliana asked, her tone hopeful. When the Herald looked at her expectantly, she continued, “A Grey Warden was sighted in the area south of our Upper Lake encampment. He could prove to be a valuable ally.”

“Very well,” Mnemyn agreed, nodding. “Does everyone find this course of action agreeable?”

“Of course, Herald,” Josephine replied with a regal nod.

“If you don’t mind,” Cullen began awkwardly, “I’ll go with you. I’d like to inspect the watchtowers, go over the requisitions for gear, and discuss staffing with each of the commanding Lieutenants personally.”

“I—We’d be glad for your company, Commander,” Mnemyn replied, grinning.

“Then it’s settled,” Cullen said. Feeling confident, he smiled in return. “Shall we depart in an hour?”

Mnemyn nodded, “My team and I shall meet you at the horse paddock, Commander.”

The four-day trek to the Hinterlands was fairly uneventful; Mnemyn and her team had made the journey so many times now, they knew it by rote. Cullen found himself a little out of place amongst the Herald’s team mostly due to the fact they had a well-established routine in place. Mnemyn went out of her way to make him feel welcome as well as included, often offering to let him shadow her on chores. Though, since Varric’s revelation not long ago, Cullen wondered if, perhaps, she had other motives. At least he hoped so. Even if she didn’t, the extra time spent with her was more than worth it.

They spoke of many things during their time spent together, the topics of conversation usually focusing on minor Inquisition business, although sometimes Mnemyn would ask him about himself and he’d share small tidbits of his life. Thankfully, Varric kept his nose out of their business for a change which Cullen thought was a bit suspicious. Due to the way Cassandra was now riding directly to his right, essentially preventing him from getting anywhere near Mnemyn, Cullen suspected the Seeker might have strongly cautioned Varric about interfering. Also, the way she was glaring at him more than usual made Cullen believe either she was running interference for him or the dwarf had done something to earn her ire. Which, he had to admit, wasn’t at all difficult for Varric.

Upon reaching the Inquisition’s farm outpost, Scout Harding informed the Herald there were several sightings of a wandering and rather hostile bear in the area. It’d slaughtered a few goats and sheep and Seanna, Dennet’s daughter, reported it’d gone after one of their horses. Thankfully, the mare had gotten away but not without injury. Fearing the rest of Dennet’s horses or the Druffalo herd might be next, Mnemyn and her companions bid Cullen farewell and set out to find and kill the bear.

Cullen spent his day meeting with Rylen, the junior officers assigned to each tower, and the stonemasons, reviewing their requisitions and making recommendations on staffing. All in all, not the most exciting day truth be told. He caught his mind wandering on more than several occasions, always settling on the Herald and what she might be doing. Knowing she was nearby and may show up at any moment did little to help his focus either.

She and her team were gone most of day, only arriving back in camp just before dusk quite empty handed and frustrated. Mnemyn explained they’d seen no sign of the bear and were, instead, attacked by bandits. This unfortunate situation thankfully led to a fortuitous find, however. Iron Bull reported they now knew the location of the bandit stronghold.

The following morning, the strike team set out just after dawn to look for the bear once again. Cullen saw them off, a pang of regret--or was it envy--twisting in his gut. If only he could justify tagging along, even if it were merely for an hour or two, but practicality won out and Cullen somehow managed to keep his mind mostly occupied on work. Though, on more than one occasion, caught himself staring off in the direction Mnemyn had ridden with great deal of longing.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for her return. Just as the sun reached its zenith in the sky, Scout Harding announced she’d sighted them not far from camp, “Looks like they’re laden down with meat and a bear pelt, Commander!” 

Cullen grinned to himself and sat aside the duty rosters he’d been reviewing, quickly making his way to the edge of camp to stand beside Harding. They watched as the Herald and her group rode over a small rise thirty meters away, Mnemyn waving gaily when she spied him waiting for her. He began to wave back when, suddenly, Mnemyn’s horse reared and screamed, obviously spooked by something nearby.

Cullen stood frozen, watching as Herald’s horse pawed at the air in terror while Mnemyn struggled to stay mounted. Before anyone could move to assist her, the horse bolted leaving her to hang on for dear life. His heart in his throat, Cullen sprang into action. He raced for his mount, practically ripping the reins from the tree he’d used as a makeshift hitch, and leapt into the saddle. In a blink of an eye, horse and rider were chasing off after the Herald like a bolt of lightning.

 _This isn’t going to end well_ , he thought as he followed them her toward the river valley below the camp at nearly breakneck speed, _that’s where the last Rift is located_. Without hesitation, Cullen finessed more speed from his horse but, although his charger was well rested and a very fast mount, he could not seem to get within a horse length of them.

As they descended toward the river bed, Cullen thought he heard more riders approaching from behind. Unsure due to the din created by the horses’ heavy footfalls, the jingling of the tack, and wind in his ears, he decided to turn to confirm his suspicion. To his surprise, the first person he saw was a scruffy-looking, bearded man flanked closely by Cassandra and Vivienne.

Noting who the mystery man’s riding companions were, Cullen deduced the newcomer must be the Grey Warden Leliana mentioned. Seeing the man was no threat, he turned his attention back to the Herald. To his dismay, he saw that she’d drastically tightened up on the reins and sat nearly rigid in the saddle, clearly terrified, which he knew would only serve to spook the horse further. Since it was clear he not be able to reach her physically, he would have to shout a warning over the din and hope she heard him.

“You _must_ relax! The horse can sense your fear!”

Unable to take her focus from the horse, Mnemyn merely nodded in reply and Cullen was relieved to see her slouch back in the saddle and let up on the reins, just as he’d taught barely a week ago. Although the horse did slow slightly, it showed no sign of stopping. Seconds ticked by and they flew across the last few yards of land and then splashed violently into the shallows of river.

As Mnemyn’s horse cleared the far bank, it came to a sudden, jerking halt and began to paw at the embankment. Sensing movement on their right flank, Cullen briefly spared a glance in that direction and muttered an oath at what he saw. Several large, spindly looking demons lumbered their way, hissing as they stalked their prey.  _Andraste preserve us_ , he thought as his own horse began to spook.

Through sheer force of will, Cullen managed to maneuver closer to the Herald and caught her attention. With a quick jerk of his head, he motioned to the open ground of the embankment behind her and shouted, “I think it’s time to call a strategic retreat. Abandon horse!”

“Agreed!”

Without further hesitation, Mnemyn immediately disengaged her feet from the stirrups, planted her hands on the horse’s withers and vaulted off the terrified creature’s back. Cullen waited only until she’s flung herself out of the away before slapping the horse’s rump, sending it splashing up the river to safety. As soon as it’d gone, he dismounted as well and, as he landed in the sandy mud of river bank, he drew his sword and shield into his hands.

While they were occupied with freeing themselves from their saddles, Cassandra and the bearded stranger interposed themselves between the demons and the Herald, shouting and banging their swords on their shields to draw the horrific looking creatures’ attentions. Thankfully, their actions bought Cullen enough time to get into position to defend Mnemyn and as he rushed past her, he noticed she was leaning rather heavily on her staff. Glancing over his shoulder, he asked, “Herald, were you injured?”

“When I dismounted, yes,” she said. When he began to voice his concern she cut him off. “I can manage, Commander.” 

 _Back to titles again, I see_ , he thought ruefully. There was an edge to her voice, one that he’d not heard before, and he wondered if this was the battle persona Cassandra had spoken of. She hadn’t even looked at him when she spoke, her sea-green eyes fixed intently on the demons, as if she were calculating possible outcomes and potential strategies.

Not knowing the severity of her injury, however, bothered Cullen to a great degree. He decided he’d attempt to push the issue and see where that got him. “Then we must get you—”

“Cullen,” she said tersely, “we haven’t time to argue. This rift needs closing.”

Though he was surprised at her snappish retort – usually she was the picture of gentility – he knew she was right. “As you say, Herald.”

And, as it turned out, it was fortunate she’d stood her ground because as Cullen turned to resume his defensive stance, he caught sight of one of the demons Cassandra had been fighting deftly slipping past her. It opened its mouth and let out a skin-crawling screech before it darted straight for Mnemyn, its hideous, dagger sharp teeth snapping menacingly. As it approached, Cullen slammed his shield into the demon’s kneecap and swore when it reached over him to take a swipe at her.

With the demon so intently focused on Mnemyn, Cullen decided to take advantage of its inattention and carved wicked gash along the demon’s nearest appendage, a leg, which quickly refocused it back on him. It snarled viciously and, as Cullen was forced to duck under a particularly nasty swipe of its claws, he felt the ripple of a protective shield wash over him. Immediately following it, there a blast of freezing cold air at his back accompanied by the sound of ice crystallizing beneath his feet. _Controlling the field of battle with winter magic,_ he thought _, Clever._

“Stay within the array of ice mines, Commander!” Mnemyn said in warning. “These are Terror Demons; they like to teleport beneath their prey so they may knock them flat on their backs.”

“Good to know,” he replied, ducking under another swipe of a claw before rounding on the demon to stab it in its midsection. The Terror demon howled in pain and reared back to strike him, this time with both claws; Cullen braced himself and readied his shield for the onslaught.

The demon, however, never had a chance to follow through. A crossbow bolt whizzed above Cullen’s head to land solidly in the demon’s throat. He looked up to watch as it gurgled and clawed for breath before toppling backwards, dead. Somewhere over his shoulder, he heard Varric’s voice.

“Well, I’ll be dipped, Bianca! The Commander’s taken the field!”

“More shooting and less joking, Messere Tethras!” Mnemyn ordered sharply.

“All work and no play makes Varric a dull dwarf, boss!” Iron Bull quipped. Cullen glanced up just as the Qunari slammed the blade of his two-handed axe into the midsection of the demon Cassandra was fighting which sent blood and gore splattering across the Seeker’s shield.

“Already dull if y’ask me!” Somewhere to his left, he heard the twang of a bow string and the zip of an arrow as it flew by. A moment later, it bit deep to pin the second of two demons the unnamed man was trying to keep occupied and was quickly followed by Sera’s rancorous laughter. “ _Eat it_ , Fade-shyte!” 

“Hey!” 

As Cullen moved to engage one of the two demons the mystery man had so adeptly kept occupied, he saw Varric’s expression darken. “That was uncalled for, Magpie!” 

The smarmy elf in question answered him with a raspberry followed by an extremely rude gesture with her tongue and fingers.

While Sera and Varric continued to shout insults at one another, Cullen moved to taunt one of the two Terror demons away from the bearded man who looked as though he could use some assistance.

“Clearly Sera does not appreciate your _many_ and _varied_ talents, Messere Tethras,” Vivienne said. There was a simpering, saccharine sweet edge to her voice as she spoke which made Cullen wince. She raced forward with her Fade-conjured sword flashing in the sun, the glint of it caught his attention and Cullen looked up as Madame de Fer flourished her free hand. The Fade sword shot forward to attack the demon he was fighting.

Satisfied he and Mnemyn had things under control, she nodded primly in his direction before she turned to assess the battlefield. With a dancer’s grace, the First Enchanter drew the Fade around herself and used it to propel herself in the mystery man’s direction, a blur of blue-white energy trailed elegantly in her wake.

“Let’s see if you think this is dull!” Varric said. It was clear he was still obviously stung by Sera’s rude comment, and reached to grab something - which Cullen thought looked suspiciously like a miniature sea mine - from his belt. Without hesitation, the dwarven archer lobbed the metallic device toward the demon Cassandra had engaged. As the spiked metal sphere rolled to a stop between the demon’s feet, Varric yelled, “Fire in the hole!”

No sooner than his warning reached its intended target’s ears, a massive explosion erupted which sent the demon ass-over-teakettle nearly a meter in the air. Cassandra, who’d barely had time brace herself _and_ duck, cursed from behind her shield. As the smoke cleared, she struggled back into a defensive position but not before she shot him an angry glare. “ _More_ forewarning would have been _nice_ , Varric!”

“I gave you warning, Seeker!” he retorted cheerfully. “Not my fault if you didn’t move fast enough!”

“Could use a hand over here!” It was the bearded man. Cullen looked up to see him shouting from behind his shield as the largest and most powerful of Terror demons continued to bear down on him. Iron Bull immediately turned to assist him, roaring loudly as he rejoined the fray. A moment later, Solas shouted a terse warning as the largest Terror cast a portal beneath its body. Thinking quickly, the elf cast an ice mine beneath where the Iron Bull had stood and the hulking Qunari warrior spun out of the way at the last minute. Seconds later, the demon burst through its own portal and froze solid on the spot.

With two of the demons incapacitated, albeit temporarily, the group rallied, turning the tide of the battle in their favor. Soon, they’d quickly felled all three remaining Terrors. Silence filled the river valley for a moment as the adventurers stood trying to catch their breath. They didn’t have long to rest, however, as the Rift sparked to life once more spitting out eight rays of eldritch, sickly green Fade light, portals beginning to hiss and bubble where the light touched the ground.

“Vivienne, Solas!” Mnemyn ordered, “ _Now_!” 

Cullen swung to see Mnemyn concentrating again and realized she was conjuring some sort of counter spell. From their positions across the field of battle, the trio of mages began to cast in concert. When they finished, a wave of bright blue-white energy washed over three of the Fade portals and dispelled them just in the nick of time.

Instead of eight demons, only five new combatants sprung forth from the Fade--one of which was a monstrous Pride demon--and Cullen swore under his breath when he saw it materialize closest to Varric, Mnemyn, and himself. _Maker I hate these things_ , he thought ruefully as he began to brace himself for the electric chains the thing would soon be whipping every which way.

“Maker have mercy,” Mnemyn said, her voice barely a whisper. 

The Pride demon behaved in exactly the manner he’d predicted and Cullen planted his feet, ready for the chains. He could hear them hissing, the errant charge of electricity sizzling as it cut through the air. Varric let loose a spectacular string of curses as rushed to dive behind Cullen, barely ducking out of the way as the chains slammed into his shield.

“Draw them to the center beneath the rift!” Mnemyn said. A second later he heard her yelp and, although he couldn’t spare even a second to look back at her, he figured she’d tried taking a step on her injured leg.

“Mnemyn?”

“She’s fine, Curly.” Varric said.

Cullen heaved a sigh of relief. Thankfully, Varric had been close enough at hand to assist her. At his back, he heard Varric tell Mnemyn to take his arm to lean on. “Looks like you didn’t stick the landing, Sunshine.” 

“Unfortunately,” she admitted through clenched teeth. 

Cullen didn’t have the opportunity to thank him, however, as the Pride demon roared and tried to swat him away with a wicked backhanded sweep. Cullen dug his heels in and grit his teeth as he braced for the attack which, conveniently, shoved him toward the others. He felt at least two sets of hands reach out to brace him before he came to a stop.

Some quick footwork allowed the warriors to form a small shield wall as the archers and mages pressed into a tight circle behind them. The group held their collective breath as they stood fast and the demons quickly closed in around them.

Seconds ticked by tensely. Finally, when the demons had reached a distance of a meter and a half away, the Herald told them her plan. She and Solas would both cast Blizzard which, she hoped, would freeze the demons in place allowing the group to focus fire on the strongest. Cullen nodded along as she spoke. It was a sound plan and one that afforded them the greatest chance of survival.

“Brace yourselves! It’s about to get a great deal colder.”

In his peripheral vision, Cullen could see both Mnemyn and Solas thrust out their hands out in unison before drawing them back to form a fist. Murmuring an incantation, they then thrust their same hands skyward and, with a guttural roar, the two mages summoned a massive storm cloud. Immediately, bitter, icy winds whipped down from the sky to lash demons and combatants alike, snow blowing wildly in every direction. Despite the fact he’d seen the spell cast dozens of times over his career as a Templar, Cullen still found it to be one of the most elegant and deadly spells in the mages’ arsenal.

“Stand fast!” Mnemyn said, shouting over the howling winds. Cullen could feel her duck down behind him, probably to catch a brief respite from the wind, before bobbing back up to gauge the storm’s progress. He watched in amazement as all five demons began to slow, mired by the cold and the bitter winds. After another few tense moments, each froze completely solid and, as soon as it was clear they were immobilized, Cassandra swung into action.

“Focus on the Pride demon first!” Cassandra ordered. Without any hesitation, the Seeker spun quickly and charged the hulking demon while her seven companions gladly turned to comply. The Pride demon quickly fell under their combined might. As it rattled its death throes, the four lesser demons thawed and rejoined the battle once again. This time, the group split into four units of two and, after a pitched battle, the remaining demons laid dead, melting into the ground.

Cullen, who’d _naturally_ paired up with Mnemyn, turned to see her breathing rather laboriously and immediately dropped his shield and moved to help her. Despite her protests, he drew her right arm over his shoulder which allowed her to take the weight off her injured leg. She nodded her thanks and then turned to thrust her hand skyward. The mark flared to life, a bright bolt of emerald green light shot from her palm and, seconds later, the Rift ripped shut. That task finished, Mnemyn nodded to him once more and seemed as though she might attempt walking under her own power. Cullen sighed at her tenacity and, for reasons he refused to admit were anything but gentlemanly, decided he couldn’t let her injure herself further.

“Hold onto my shoulder,” Cullen said. Mnemyn did as he asked without a word although he could see her watching him skeptically. He gave her a sardonic look then turned to sheath his sword then slung his shield over his shoulder. Once he had everything properly adjusted, he turned, and without any warning, swept her into his arms. Mnemyn swallowed a surprised yelp and shot him a mildly annoyed look but otherwise made no protest. 

Cullen took a tentative step, testing their combined center of balance, and paused just long enough to redistribute her weight slightly before he strode confidently toward the river bank. He was surprised to see her reach over to thread her hands around his neck in an attempt to help take any strain off his shoulders. He smirked at her and said, “That’s hardly necessary. You barely weigh anything.”

She rolled her eyes skyward in answer. When that didn’t get a rise out of him, she tried another tack. “That may be so, but I believe I can return to camp under my own power, thank-you-very-much.”

“Absolutely not!” he said. Cullen felt his temper flare at her defiant and, quite frankly, reckless attitude and stopped to look her in the eye. He drew in a sharp but calming breath as she continued to give him a sullen look and decided he needed to set her straight.

“We have no idea if your leg is broken or merely sprained. Walking may worsen your injury and I’m not about to let that happen, Mnemyn.”

No sooner than he’d spoken, the Herald stilled in his arms and he watched as any argument she might’ve had seemed to instantly die on her lips. He found this extremely puzzling at first. But, taking a moment to consider that he almost never addressed her by her first name, he guessed using it now caught her off guard. _Or, perhaps, it calmed her_ , Supplied the voice in the back of his mind. _Doubtful_ , Cullen thought ruefully.

Mental jousting over, Cullen looked up to see her staring at him with hooded eyes which set his skin tingling. His breath hitched as he noticed her slightly parted lips which immediately caused a flutter of arousal deep within the pit of his stomach. He fixated on her lovely lips for a moment too long and began to wonder how soft and pliant her lips would feel if he leaned in to kiss her right now. Unbidden, thoughts of how her soft, pink tongue would feel twirled around his own now tantalized his imagination which proved to be just a step too far.

Cullen knew he was standing at the precipice of impropriety and realized he must make a decision; kiss her and risk embarrassing them both, or buckle down and walk it off. Pragmatism won out. _Coward_ , the voice in the back of his head taunted. _Shut up_ , _you_ , Cullen answered.  

Idly, he supposed it might be easier to just ask Iron Bull to carry her back to camp. But, when he stopped to consider he’d have to give up his newfound intimacy with Mnemyn, he immediately decided against it. Seeing he had few options – and even fewer coping skills – Cullen turned to something familiar to calm himself, his templar training. He took a deep breath to re-focus himself and then began to recite the Canticle of Apotheosis to distract himself while he continued up the hill toward camp. He suspected he’d be reciting quite a few more passages from the Chant of Light before this trip was concluded.


	11. That's gonna leave a bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the river valley rift battle, Cullen and the others must determine how extensive the Herald's injuries are. The Commander also learns he has a rival for Mnemyn's attention.

_Hinterlands, Solace 20, Dragon 9:41_

While Cullen silently recited the Canticle to himself, Mnemyn resorted to pouting in silence. She unthreaded her arms from around his neck and crossed them over her chest, which caught his attention. He looked up to see her expression was one of sullenness, her mouth pressed to a thin line. Despite her intent to look surly, he thought she looked rather adorable.

When she noticed him looking at her, she tilted her chin up in a show of defiance. Cullen shook his head and chuckled under his breath, deciding to let her be. There was no point in provoking a prolonged argument over who was right. It was clear neither of them were inclined to budge. Satisfied the matter was settled, he half-turned back to the others and shouted for someone to round up the horses, then resumed his trek back the way they’d come.

Sera hurried up alongside them now, chattering like an agitated magpie. He supposed this is why Varric had addressed her as such during the battle. He immediately saw through her thinly veiled attempt to sound brave and was moved by how deeply she seemed to care for Mnemyn.

She’d turned to dig through the contents of her pack, desperately looking for anything to help her injured friend, so Cullen slowed his gait to accommodate Sera’s slowed pace. As he watched her, he wished there was something he could do something to comfort or, at the very least, assuage her fears over the Herald’s injuries. He realized very quickly, however, if he showed Sera any kind of gentleness it’d be met with swift and righteous anger. Nobody pitied Sera. She could do things herself.

“I--I have a, um, wassis called… a poultice-thingie. That should do somethin’ t’help, right? It don’ hurt much, does it?”

“No, it’s not bad,” Mnemyn said. Cullen heard the lie but said nothing. He supposed a white lie to spare Sera from worrying was kinder than the alternative. “And yes, a poultice would be rather welcome right now.”

“Sera, come away from there _at once_!” Vivienne said. Judging by how the elder mage’s voice echoed and her snappish tone, Cullen figured she was about four meters behind him and was not best pleased. Within the matter of a few seconds, Vivienne bustled up, glaring at Sera, her entire body throwing off sparks of annoyance. When Sera growled and dug her heels in, her hands clenching to fists around her pack, Madame de Fer snorted derisively and made a shooing motion with her hands.

“Go on now. The Commander and I have this well in hand.”

Sera responded by uttering a positively hair curling curse before she stormed off which caused Vivienne to roll her eyes dramatically. Cullen sighed heavily as he watched her turn and charge off ahead of him, to ‘organize’ things in preparation for the Herald’s arrival. He knew this more or less involved her sweeping dramatically into the camp where she’d let everyone who’d listen know Mnemyn was injured. _Leaving chaos in her wake as usual_ , he thought ruefully to himself.

Mnemyn, whom he’d noticed was incredibly amused by Sera’s colorful cussing, shifted slightly in his arms, sniggering into his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow at her but decided not to ask, though he was thankful this seemed to diffuse the tension between them.

“Someday,” she said, “Sera’s going to put an arrow in Madame de Fer’s posterior and I’ll have a good, long laugh.”

Cullen chuckled at that. “I’m sure you won’t be the only one.”

They both laughed now and he was relieved to see the smile reach Mnemyn’s eyes. They fell into a companionable silence for a half dozen paces until, Mnemyn shifted to crane her neck in order to see over his shoulder. She seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for and settled back into his arms, her expression turning gloomy. Cullen looked at her with surprise and, upon closer inspection, noticed her eyes had become a bit watery.

“My lady?” he said.

She shook her head and waved his concern off while she reached to swipe away a tear. When she finally spoke, her voice was rather quiet and a bit strained. “Thank you, Cullen.”

“For?”

“The riding lessons,” she said, “I believe your expert tutelage saved my life.”

“I, well…” he said, “I’m glad to have been some help to you, my lady.”

Feeling panic build in his chest, Cullen decided to focus his attention on the path ahead rather than look her in the eye for fear he’d say something to embarrass himself.

He felt her shift in his arms and, before he knew what was happening, Mnemyn leaned up to hug him, murmuring against his neck. “And thank you for coming to my aid. I’m not sure what I’d have done without you.”

Shocked at her sudden display of affection, Cullen came to an abrupt stop, his entire body going rigid. He immediately realized he hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond. Mnemyn must’ve felt him tense up, because she pulled back to regard him with an innocent, questioning look, likely worried she’d somehow offended him. Not wanting to discourage her affection or hurt her feelings, Cullen managed to screw up the courage to give her a shy, if not awkward, smile. Though he could feel his cheeks flaming bright red under her gaze, he willed himself to speak.

“I’m sure you’d have managed quite well,” he said. “I, uhm, I actually did very little to help.”

She slanted him a reproachful look for a moment before shifting her gaze back to the scenery. Thankful she hadn’t pressed the issue further, Cullen resumed his original course.

The sun was beginning to set as he crested the valley’s lip, striding with renewed vigor as he caught sight of camp not terribly far away. As he’d imagined, Vivienne was raising quite a fuss, sending scouts running hither and thither to fetch and carry medical supplies, fresh water, blankets, and Maker knew what else. In his arms, he heard Mnemyn groan, “Must I deal with her? Can’t you just take me back to Haven now?”

“Much as I hate to admit, Madame de Fer is correct,” he said. He hadn’t bothered to hide the annoyance in his voice, knowing Mnemyn was likely just as agitated by Vivienne’s well-meaning as he was. “We must at least bandage you before setting out.”

As he made his way the last dozen or so steps toward camp, Varric rode by on his pony with Mnemyn’s horse in tow and shot Cullen a devious grin followed by a wink. “Commander, Herald.”

Cullen was at first confused by this but soon realized Varric was teasing him about he and Mnemyn’s proximity to one another, somehow trying to imply there was something improper in it. He sighed heavily and was about to grumble something unflattering under his breath when he felt Mnemyn give him a gentle squeeze. He looked down at her in surprise and received a sunny smile in return, “Don’t let him get to you. He loves it when you get worked up.”

“Does he now?” he said.

Cullen heaved a frustrated sigh and stomped onward, his entire body radiating indignation while casting angry, threatening glares in the direction the dwarf disappeared. Idly, he wondered for the briefest of moments, if he ought to sit Mnemyn down somewhere safe before pursuing Messere Tethras so he might deliver the arse chewing of his life. Through the haze of anger, Cullen reasoned it had been bad enough when it was only Sister Leliana meddling in their  affairs, but now that Varric had joined in, this was a bridge too far.

It would end here and now. Today.

So absorbed was he by his own thoughts, that Cullen didn’t hear Mnemyn trying to get his attention. Seeing he was rather preoccupied, the woman in his arms took a different tack and reached up to gently tip his stubble covered chin toward her, her expression mild as she gently admonished him, “Cullen, it’ll keep. I think we have more important things to worry about right now.”

Just hearing her say his name seemed to have an immediate calming effect on him and, to his surprise, he felt all the anger ebb away as he looked into her beautiful blue-green eyes. He watched as her cheeks colored prettily and she dropped her eyes shyly down and away under his appreciative gaze. _How incredibly beautiful she is bathed in the light of the Hinterland’s sunset_ , he thought.

 _Calenhad Sunset_ , the little voice in the back of his mind corrected suddenly and Cullen nearly came to a full halt as he realized its meaning. Her favorite color was the sunset of his homeland. His heart thundered in his chest at the realization. _The Maker works in mysterious ways_ , _don’t you think_? his conscience asked.

Movement jerked him out of his thoughts and he saw that Mnemyn had leaned closer to him, her petal pink lips slightly parted ever so alluringly. His breath caught in his throat as felt her fingers brush the hair at the nape of his neck. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Just minutes ago, he’d decided to shove aside his desires and be the gentleman. But now, it was Mnemyn who seemed throw caution to the wind, bending to the whims of her heart. _Or her hormones_ , quipped his inner voice.

_Silence!_

In the meantime, they’d drawn nearer to one another, their lips so close now he could feel her warm breath spilling over his lips and chin. Despite everything that’d transpired this day, Cullen felt as though there was nothing more he wanted to do than live in this moment in time, her in his arms, forever.

So drawn in by her inescapable beauty and the longing in her eyes, he did not notice Varric had returned.  “Brilliant military strategist, former templar, expert equestrian, _and_ knight in shining armor?” he said smoothly. “I think he’s a keeper, Herald.”

At the sound of Varric’s voice, Cullen nearly choked and Mnemyn froze, her eyes going wide. They both quickly withdrew from their almost kiss, trying desperately - and failing - to affect a look of innocent confusion; though Cullen could have sworn he saw Mnemyn giving Varric an extremely dirty look as he rushed to carry her into camp proper.

The gregarious dwarf had followed him. _Because of course he would_ , Cullen griped to himself as he moved to gingerly sit Mnemyn by the fire. As he straightened to stand, he saw a positively unapologetic smile on Varric’s face as he moved to settle down beside her. Cullen cast what he hoped was a menacing look in his direction and heard Mnemyn angrily mutter something in Varric’s native tongue. Varric chuckled which seemed to anger her further but, instead of yelling, she merely glanced away to glare at something in the distance.

Cullen felt as though he wanted to throttle Varric and would have, if Cassandra hadn’t breezed into camp just then. She was also glowering at their troublesome companion, almost sneering from the looks of it. Without so much as a word, Cassandra turned and punched Varric in the shoulder before moving to sit on Mnemyn’s other side.

“Ow! Hey!” Varric yelped, “That’s gonna bruise!”

“That was my intent, dwarf.” Cassandra said, her voice as dry and unforgiving as the Western Approach. Somewhere near the tents, Cullen could hear Sera and Bull sniggering madly as they watched from the shadows. If the Seeker heard their amused laughter, she ignored it and, instead, continued to shoot daggers at the sulking dwarf over Mnemyn’s head. Scout Harding seemed to take pity on him, why Cullen couldn't say, and pressed a bowl of stew into the Seeker’s gloved hands in an attempt to distract her.

Vivienne bustled up, a scout laden with bandages, poultices, and vials of Maker knew what trailing helplessly behind her. She shooed Varric from his seat so she might take it and wasted no time getting to work. She spoke quietly to Mnemyn in a rather soothing, motherly tone as she worked to unbuckle her greaves. Cullen had to wonder whether the pleasantness of her tone was meant to distract her charge from her injury as she tended it or if she really did care for the Herald. There was no telling with Vivienne and he decided not to waste any more time thinking about it.

Soon, Madame de Fer made quick work of Mnemyn’s boot and laid it aside as she gingerly brought the Herald’s swollen shin into her hands.

Cassandra leaned in now to examine the swelling and conferred with Vivienne, both Seeker and Mage seeming completely unaware their patient was even still there. It struck him as a bit odd that the Seeker, who had been eating, was leaned over to inspect a wound. He supposed Cassandra had learned to compartmentalize or, at the very least, become immune to injury and gore much as he had long ago.

He paced just behind the three women, his hands clenching and unclenching as he waited for their prognosis. On his third, or possibly fourth, pass, he noticed Mnemyn’s expression had become anxious. Suddenly, her brow creased with worry and she looked up to catch his attention, looking up at him beseechingly. Cullen felt his heart clench. She needed him.

He moved around to stand at her back, hoping his presence would provide the support she’d asked for. He didn’t dare do more for fear it’d be viewed as extremely improper. To his surprise, Mnemyn reached up and slipped her hand into his own and, although this simple, gentle act of trust and friendship left him thunderstruck, he didn’t dare let go. She needed him after all. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as Vivienne began to examine the injury more closely.

“Yes, see there?” she said pointing to a particularly awful bruise blooming on the right side of Mnemyn’s shin. “It’s broken. Without a doubt.”

Cassandra sighed heavily and cast a glance up at him, “We must take her back--”

Cullen cut her off. “ _Immediately_.”

When Cassandra looked up at him with surprise, he said, “I’ll take her myself as soon as she’s bandaged.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Mnemyn asked.

“ _No_ ,” they chorused in unison.

With Cassandra’s help, Vivienne made short work of bandaging and bracing the Herald’s injured leg and when she’d finished, rose to her feet smiling arrogantly. It was clear she was ever so pleased with herself. Forcing himself to focus on something else, he made a mental list of both his and the Herald’s gear in preparation for their imminent departure.

It was now Cullen remembered their guest, the scruffy looking warrior in padded armor, and realized the poor fellow had been left completely to his own devices. It was clear he’d been watching the entire exchange from beyond the ring of firelight, an unreadable expression on his bearded face. Cullen took a moment to really look at him now and noticed the man’s broad shoulders were slightly slumped forward, as though he bore a great burden. The worry lines on his forehead as well as the haunted look in his eyes - a look Cullen knew entirely too well for his own liking - spoke of a great deal of tragedy in his life.

The Commander raised a curious eyebrow and caught the Seeker’s attention before flicking his gaze toward the unnamed man. Cassandra huffed out a sigh when she saw the bearded man, realizing they’d all had forgotten him. Brusquely, she rose to her feet and said, “Commander Cullen, may I introduce Grey Warden Gordon Blackwall.”

Cullen gingerly let go of Mnemyn’s hand so he could offer it to the newcomer and watched as the man seemed to size him up before stepping into the light to reciprocate. He nodded, shaking Cullen’s hand firmly and said quietly, “T’is a pleasure, Ser.”

“The pleasure’s ours, Warden,” Cullen replied, smiling slightly. There was something about the way this man carried himself that just didn’t sit right with him, though. For the briefest of moments, he could see a pang of guilt or remorse in the man’s expression. Immediately, Cullen chided himself for being so cynical, mentally arguing that only time and the man’s actions would merit a proper judgment of his character. That thought went right out the window when Blackwall moved to sit in Varric’s twice-vacated seat beside Mnemyn.

Cullen drew in a sharp breath, jealousy suddenly welling deep within him, and it was all he could do not to glare at the newcomer. He watched in veiled horror as the Warden immediately engaged her in conversation and, a moment later, told a joke which had her laughing merrily.

 _I’ve no right to her_ , thought miserably as he reached back to massage the tension in his neck. _She looks happy at least._

Movement on his left flank dragged him from his melancholy and he turned to see Varric, saddlebags slung over each shoulder, studying him rather intensely. The dwarf flagged him over then led him into the shadows near the tents.

“You’d better get a move on,” he urged quietly, handing Cullen the Herald’s world worn saddlebag. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper now and he leaned in, “before that Warden woos her out from under you.”

Cullen, who’d been in the process of taking said saddlebag, nearly dropped it at this revelation. “I’ve no right to even ask her—”

Varric held up his hand for silence, a look of annoyance on his face. Cullen huffed and snapped his mouth shut, glowering at the dwarf as if to say _get on with it_.

“Look, Cullen, I like you. You’re a good guy, if a bit grumpy and curmudgeon-like at times,” he said. “But sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I am n—”

“Ah-ahh,” Varric said. Cullen narrowed his eyes at the dwarf as he was tut-tutted. “Listen, to me, okay? A woman like Mnemyn doesn’t just fall in your lap every day. If you don’t make a move, Blackwall will. I guarantee it.”

From the conviction in Varric’s voice, Cullen guessed at some point in his life, he’d lost someone very dear to him to another suitor. That was not going to be the case now, he decided. His jaw clenched tightly, Cullen shot an indignant look at the back of the Warden’s head. Before he could say anything, Varric pressed Cullen’s own saddlebag into his hands. “That’s right. He was flirting with her the whole way back from the bear hunt. Wait much longer and it’ll be ‘you snooze you lose,’ Curly.”

“She’s not some prize mare we’re bidding on at market, Varric,” Cullen said.

Varric quirked a curious brow at his acidic tone and shrugged. “Okay, bad analogy. Regardless—”

“I can’t just—woo her at the drop of a hat, Varric,” Cullen said.

Varric rolled his eyes and snorted. “No? Then what do you call what happened on your little walk up the hill just now? Hm?”

Cullen stared at him, gob smacked. “I—I didn’t do—I assumed she—”

“She’s not exactly in the habit of kissing—or should I say almost kissing—just anyone, you know.”

“And if I recall correctly, _you’re_ the one who interrupted that kiss.” Cullen said.

“Ah-hah! So you _did_ want to kiss her!”

“You are intolerable,” Cullen said with a growl.

“Cassandra says the same thing, all the time,” Varric said. He shrugged and turned to lead Cullen to the horses. “Look, just be yourself. Talk to her, maybe bring her some flowers, but whatever you do, do something, Curly. And soon.”

As they approached, they saw Cassandra saddling his charger with a pillion that would allow Mnemyn to ride side saddle behind him. Doing so would lessen the strain riding would have on her injury. The Seeker snorted as she overheard what Varric was telling him, shaking her head in disbelief. “Still not leaving well enough alone, I see.”

“Nope,” Varric said. He grinned proudly and reached up to hand her Cullen’s saddle bags. Cassandra made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes in return.

“Normally, I’d caution you to ignore whatever came tumbling out of his mouth,” Cassandra said. Her brow furrowed, she stopped what she was doing to look up at him with an earnest expression. “But, as much as it pains me to say this, I feel it’d be wise to listen to Varric’s counsel. _This_ time.”

Iron Bull, who’d been leaned against a nearby tree, cleared his throat to announce his presence before meandering over to them. Cullen stared at him in surprise; how in the Void could someone so large be so stealthy? As if the Qunari had read his thoughts, the gregarious giant spread his hands candidly, “Years of Ben-Hassrath training. I’ll go get the boss while you prep your horse, Commander.”

Cullen was so surprised he stood staring after Bull for a few beats. Varric, who’d been watching Blackwall and Mnemyn rather intently, gently ushered him toward the horses, “Seriously, you need to move it. He’s laying on the charm pretty thick.”

Cullen sighed and affixed the saddlebags before swinging into the saddle. A moment later, Bull returned with the Herald in his arms with Vivienne and practically everyone else in tow.

“I’m not an invalid—”

“Just shush and let me do this for you, boss. Okay?” Bull replied jovially, grinning wider still as Mnemyn harrumphed in his arms. Her grumpiness was short lived. Her usual sunny expression returned when Bull gently sat her on the pillion saddle behind Cullen. “She’s a little pissy, Commander, so watch out.”

“I am _not_ ,” she protested hotly.

“ _Right_ ,” Varric said, drawing out the word sarcastically for emphasis which, of course, earned him a thwack on the back of his head from Cassandra. “Ow! Watch the hair, huh?”

Cassandra ignored him, instead reaching up to clasp Mnemyn’s hand. “We shall meet you back at Haven in a few days. Take good care of her, Commander.”

“I shall,” Cullen said. He chuckled under his breath at the thought of Mnemyn sitting still for even the shortest period of time, earning him a mildly perturbed look from her. Before she could chide him, however, Vivienne stepped up to press a satchel into her hands.

As Mnemyn took a stab at placating Vivienne, Cullen sensed movement on the other side of his horse. He turned to see Sera glowering at him a few paces away. A look of annoyance – or, more accurately, barely contained rage – radiated off the young woman as she stared him down. She said nothing but, between the nasty look she was giving him and her body language, her message was clear enough; should the Herald be injured further, Sera’d hold him responsible. Cullen sighed inwardly and tipped a nod to her to acknowledge the message had been received and, as soon as he did, she skulked off in a huff.

“Darling,” Cullen heard Vivienne simper, “these potions are from my _private stock_. They should help with the pain during your journey.”

“That’s—very kind of you, Madame Vivienne,” Mnemyn said. She shifted in her seat a second time in as many minutes and Cullen could see she was not only uncomfortable but slightly caught off guard at the kind gesture. “I don’t know wh—”

“Of course you don’t!” Vivienne gushed, “I know darling, I’m simply _too_ kind!”

“You are,” Cullen said. He’d barely kept the sarcasm out of his voice but, thankfully, Vivienne completely ignored him. Mnemyn shifted again and he looked back to see her fidgeting. She clearly wanted to leave as badly has he did, so Cullen gave Cassandra a pleading look in the hopes she’d come to their rescue.

The Seeker smirked as she realized what he was asking and began to shoo everyone back toward the fire. “Come, the Commander and Herald must make some distance before it gets too dark to see.”

Before she turned away, he mouthed the words _thank you_ and Cassandra tipped him a regal nod in return. _Thank the Maker for the Seeker_ , he thought. She was someone whom he could always rely and, more often than not, had about as much patience as he did for nonsense. Mnemyn handed him the satchel Vivienne had given her and he reached back, tucking it into her saddle bag before straightening once again, “Shall we, my lady?”

“Please,” she said tiredly, resting her head on his shoulder as he began to steer his charger in the direction of the Imperial highway.


	12. The Long road home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Mnemyn make their way back to Haven and, along the way, learn new things about each other and themselves. Mnemyn reveals a family secret which floors Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Palfrey - a fine horse, often as expensive as a destrier, used by knights for everyday riding  
> Rerebrace - the piece of armor which covers the bicep/tricep and falls between the pauldron (shoulder) and the Couter (elbow) armor
> 
> Trigger warning! If your squicks include blood (wounds) or nightmares, this chapter has both.

_Hinterlands, Solace 21, Dragon 9:41_

Because of a fortuitous full moon, Cullen made relatively decent progress along the Imperial Highway that evening, only stopping to make camp when Mnemyn said she needed a break. Once he’d found a suitable spot, both screened from the highway and sheltered by some large protective trees, he helped her down from the horse. She’d taken one of Vivienne’s alchemic potions to dull the pain so she was more than a bit wobbly at first. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he gently picked her up and carried her to a nice spot near where he planned on building the campfire. When she was settled, he turned his attention to setting up camp and caring for his horse.

As he was unsaddling his palfrey, he noticed Mnemyn seemed a bit glum as she sat watching him. He made quick work of putting the horse out to graze and stowed the tack before setting out to build a fire. In this part of the forest, dry wood was rather abundant and he made short work of collecting enough to build a warm, welcoming fire.

As he was laying out the kindling, he happened to glance up and saw that she looked as though she didn’t know what to do with herself. _Perhaps a bit of conversation might cheer her,_ he thought. “They say King Maric camped in these very hills during the rebellion.”

“Yes, I’d read that...somewhere,” she said. Mnemyn’s voice sounded far away as though she were focused on something else or, at the very least, was tired. When it became abundantly clear she was not in the mood to engage him in conversation he thought, _This isn’t working. Some advice, Varric._

As he cast about for something else that might comfort her, his stomach growled. Perhaps a meal might put them both in a better frame of mind. “Are you hungry?”

He watched her shrug, sighing to herself as she fiddled with the buttons of her coat. _Maker’s breath, I’m making a mess of this_ , he thought ruefully.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind starting the fire while I hunt up supper?” he said.

“Of course,” she said. At his suggestion, he immediately saw a flicker of her old self. A wave of relief washed over him. _Thank the Maker._

“I’ll be back shortly, with our dinner, m’lady,” he said. He flashed her a smile as he rose to his feet and then gave her a courteous half-bow which promptly earned him a snort. Confused, he looked at her expectantly.

“We’re alone, Cullen,” she said. She smiled crookedly at him, looking up over the tinder as she worked to arrange it carefully. “We can dispense with the formalities, I think.”

He considered her request for a moment and then, throwing caution to the wind, decided it’d probably be okay. “As you wish, Mnemyn.”

He was quickly rewarded with a brighter smile, which, unlike the last few times, actually reached her eyes. He grinned broadly in return and felt his heart fluttering in his chest as she looked away shyly. _What she could do to me with just a look and a smile_.

With a bit of a spring in his step, Cullen headed off for a deeper part of the forest in search of a thicket and, hopefully, a rabbit warren.

He returned no worse for wear nearly thirty minutes later, a pleasingly plump hare slung over his shoulder. Mnemyn was sitting more or less near where he’d left her, reading a book by the fire. To her right, he saw their bedrolls laid out and the materials for a lean-to stacked neatly not far away.

Frowning in disapproval, Cullen stopped to peruse the camp for any other improvements she might’ve made in his absence. Other than the small camp kettle near the fire and accompanying mugs, which he knew she kept in her rucksack, he found no other major improvements. He guessed she knew her limits but, still, it’d been rather foolish to move around a on broken leg.

“Mnemyn,” he said.

“Yes, Cullen?” she said. Immediately, he heard the sweetness in her tone and realized she knew he was not best pleased. This would prove to be an interesting conversation.

“I believe Vivienne said staying off your injury was imperative to a quick recovery,” he said. With a slightly exasperated sigh, he looked at her expectantly and waited for an answer.

“I wasn’t standing on it,” she said. She was smiling almost glibly and, closing her book with a snap, she raised her eyebrows slightly as if to say _touché_. As he suspected, she was going to put up some resistance using humor to deflect any concern he might have. Setting the book aside, she retrieved a simple crutch she’d apparently made from foraged materials and held it up proudly for him to see.

 _Andraste preserve me. Sometimes there’s no point in arguing with her_ , he thought. Still frowning at her in disapproval, he moved to sit his kill by the fire before kneeling at her side. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a small bunch of white flowers, which he thought Leliana had said were called _Andraste’s Grace_ , and offered them to her. “I, uhm, I happened across these. I thought you might like them.”

Her eyes twinkled with delight as she took the small bouquet and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply of its scent. “They’re very lovely, Cullen! Thank you.”

He managed a somewhat awkward smile and turned so he could begin to skin and butcher the rabbit.

She gently sat the flowers beside her and then turned to watch him in silence, her hands folded in her lap. “You’re quite good at that.”

“I grew up on a farm,” he said, “sometimes to supplement our garden, my father and I would hunt small game.”

She smiled and, from her expression, he guessed she was trying to picture him, at the tender age of eight, trying to outsmart fast moving woodland creatures. She giggled to herself behind her hand, a spritely, tinkling sound which, in turn, made him smile, too.

“That sounds like marvelous fun,” she said.

He looked up to see she was still smiling and, at first, wasn’t quite sure if she was serious. Ever adept at reading emotions, she immediately picked up on his uncertainty. “I’ve tried it once or twice but both Varric and Bull have declared I’m no longer permitted to go with them,” she said.

“And why might that be?” he said. He rose to his feet and grabbed a cloth from his saddle bags to clean his hands with.

“Varric says I can’t walk softly to save my life,” she said. “And Bull said my method of capture needed work. Apparently, freezing rabbits solid isn’t as clever as one might think.”

“Oh?” he said with a laugh.

“You have to thaw them before you can do anything with the meat and that doesn’t always lead to an expeditious supper.”

“Yes, I can see how that’d be less than optimal, especially when having to feed such a…boisterous and colorful bunch as your companions.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said. “I’d have opted for ‘deliberately rancorous and absolutely terrifying when hungry’ myself.”

He laughed and shook his head, yes, he could definitely see a great many of her companions as being cranky at mealtimes. Especially Sera and Lady Cassandra.

As the rabbit roasted over the fire, Cullen set about assembling the lean-to. It was mid-summer and, although it was warm, the highlands west of Redcliff were notorious for sudden, sometimes violent, storms fresh off the peaks of the Frostbacks. Halfway through construction, he’d worked up a sweat and had to shed his gloves and cloak. He briefly considered shucking his armor as well but decided against it. He was used to its familiar weight and he felt comfortable in it – less vulnerable, both physically and emotionally.

They carried on pleasant small talk over their meal and, afterwards, it seemed the weight of the day was wearing on Mnemyn. He helped her onto her bedroll and immediately found himself wondering if he should forgo sleep to stand watch.

She must’ve read the intent in his expression and expressed her concern. “This part of the forest is very quiet, Cullen. We needn’t worry about being disturbed.”

He slanted her a skeptical look for a moment, not entirely convinced. “There are always bandits.”

“I can set wards,” she said. Her tone was rather insistent and it seemed as though she might be becoming slightly annoyed with him. “You need your sleep, Cullen.”

“A few hours missed—” he said. He’d intended to reassure her but, unfortunately, only succeeded in irritating her.

“Maker’s breath, Commander,” she said, exasperated. “And how will you steer the horse tomorrow if you’re dead on your feet?”

“Point taken,” he said. Smiling to himself, he mused, _So I was right. She addresses me by my title when she’s angry with me. I wonder if that would change if we were to—Andraste preserve me. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself._

She smiled and affected a look of mild shock to which he rolled his eyes playfully skyward, shaking his head. She rummaged through her pack now, fishing out several rocks, all about the shape and size of potatoes, which had runes carved into them. She imbued each with a little bit of magic and handed him the lot of them. “Just set them as you would station sentries.”

He made short work of setting the wards and, upon returning to his bedroll, realized the error of volunteering to return her to Haven: he’d have to sleep beside her. Alone. He stilled, staring slightly wide eyed at the proximity of her bedroll and wondered if moving his own would upset her. She must’ve noticed he was frozen with doubt because she made a frustrated harrumphing sound and he looked up to see her frowning at him with disapproval.

“Honestly, Cullen,” she said. “Sleeping beside me will not besmirch either your or my sterling reputations. And, should anyone so much as even hint there was impropriety between us, I’ll remind them that I was injured and, thus, nothing happened. If that doesn’t suffice, I’m sure a fireball will do.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he said. His reply, meant to be reserved, instead ended up coming out with a laugh. The thought of her lobbing a fireball at Varric for being a meddling rapscallion was just entirely too amusing.

She shrugged and then patted his bedroll, giving him the most beguiling smile he’d ever seen before. _How can I say no to that face?_ he wondered as he relented and settled down beside her. He then went about his nightly ritual of removing his armor, which, due to the fact that being this close to his current company made his pulse leap and sent sparks of excitement down his spine, at least brought some level of normalcy to an otherwise unusual and tiresome day.

“You’re not going to sleep in your armor?”

“No,” he said. He slanted her a mildly sardonic look which she answered with a chuckle.

Between the soft clinks, clanks, and miscellaneous jingles of buckles, bracers and other armor items being taken off, Cullen happened to catch a glimpse of Mnemyn removing her own armor. His breath caught in his throat. She’d let her hair down—something he’d only ever seen her do once before—and had swept it over her right shoulder as she worked on her left rerebrace leaving her neck slightly exposed.

He done a commendable job, by his standards, of not thinking about sex while in her company but with that small, inviting expanse of skin exposed, Cullen’s mind wandered to a great many places and none of them decent. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look elsewhere before too much blood went running southward and caused them both a great deal of embarrassment.

He was extremely puzzled by this new development. He’d been more or less celibate by choice for nearly a decade and hadn’t been this troubled by improper thoughts about a woman since the Ferelden circle tower and Ellendra Amell’s ridiculous teasing. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he forced himself to think of other things to clear his mind.

Some minutes later, their armor neatly stacked and the fire properly banked, Cullen laid back on his bedroll with a sigh of relief. To his left, he heard Mnemyn shift slightly. Glancing over at her, he was surprised to see her watching him with hooded eyes but couldn’t quite gauge what her expression meant.

“Good night, Cullen,” she said.

He smiled and watched as she was already beginning to slip off to the Fade, her eyes fluttering shut. “Good night, my lady.”

* * *

Cullen awoke sometime later, his head pounding with another headache. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he realized he was back at the Redcliff farms camp. _I’d swear we left hours ago,_ he thought. He didn’t have time to ponder how he’d miraculously returned, however, as there was a commotion outside his tent. The kerfuffle was quickly followed by Scout Harding shouting a warning.

“There! I-I see them—Oh no. _No._ ”

Adrenaline pumping, Cullen bounded to his feet and burst through the tent flaps only to see Cassandra carrying Mnemyn’s limp body in her arms. Even from where he stood, he could see they were both covered in blood and Mnemyn had several grievous wounds across her midsection. He felt bile rising in his throat and uttered a silent prayer to the Maker and Andraste as he rushed to help.

“Seeker! What happened?”

  
“She’s dead,” Cassandra said. The Seeker stood holding Mnemyn’s body as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded, her voice sounded so incredibly hollow. Cullen could see tears standing in her eyes.

“I-I don’t understand—” he said.

“Lady Trevelyan’s horse spooked. It ran into the river valley and, by the time I caught up with her, the demons had done their grisly work.”

“No, that’s not possible. I saved her—” he began to argue.

“You overworked yourself and collapsed this afternoon. You were dead to the world when she needed you most,” Cassandra said. She was glowering at him in fury, her tone was positively acidic, and Cullen could see her nearly shaking. Whether it was in anger or the shock of what had happened, he did not know.

“This is your fault! You swore you’d never let anythin’ happen to her! Gave me your word, you did!” Sera appeared to his left suddenly, and he turned to see her staring at him in disbelief and horror. After a moment, she screwed up her face in anger and stabbed an accusatory finger at him while belting another biting accusation in his direction. “ _I hate you!_ ”

“How could you let this happen, Curly?” Varric said. “I thought you loved her!”

“A positively fine mess you’ve left us with, Commander,” Vivienne said.

Solas stepped into view and icily stared him down. “Another brilliant mage lost to Templar incompetence.”

“Y’know,” Iron Bull said, “I had a bad feeling about you from the minute I laid my eye on you.”

“I don’t even know you,” said Blackwall, “but I’ve never seen such dereliction of duty in my life. You should be hanged for this.”

“I always knew we made a mistake bringing you into the Inquisition,” Leliana said coldly.

“You have truly doomed us all,” said Josephine. “The Breach will surely swallow us whole now.”

Cullen swung around to stare at his fellow advisors, his temper flaring. “You-you’re not even supposed to be here. The both of you stayed in Haven!”

The next thing he knew, he was standing on the shore of Lake Calenhad. Not far away, he could see Mnemyn’s motionless body resting atop a pyre. Sera stood sobbing at the foot of it, torch in hand. He tried to yell, to tell her not to light it but no sound came from forth. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest and tried to run toward the pyre, hoping to stop her. But he tripped and nearly fell. As he recovered from his near-fall, he realized he’d been clapped in chains.

“No, please!”

“Cullen!”

“N-no… you mustn’t— _you mustn’t_!!” he said, tossing in his sleep. Still gripped by his nightmare, Cullen continued to toss restlessly, though somehow he thought he’d heard Mnemyn’s voice calling to him. “She’s alive… she’s—no!”

“Cullen, please! You must wake up!”

A muted emerald green light shone above his eyelids suddenly and he felt someone dab a cool, wet cloth across his brow. He could smell wood smoke, pine and—Crystal Grace? Crystal Grace was Mnemyn’s favorite flower and she often smelled of them. His heart lurched and he bolted upright, panting. “Mnemyn!”

As his vision swam into focus, he could see Mnemyn seated beside him, right where she’d laid down to sleep. Her hands were held up, palms out, as though she had been surprised. As he cast his gaze about wildly, still not sure if this was truly reality, he noticed a canteen and a cloth in her lap. She’d been tending to him. _Of course, the emerald light was her mark._ _Maker’s breath, I was dreaming_.

“Are you all right?” she said. Although her voice was quite cautious and barely above a whisper, he could sense so much concern there his heart ached. He had worried her.

“I—yes,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion. He drew his right knee up to balance his forearm on and scrubbed his left hand over his face and back into his hair. He was covered in a fine, cold sweat and could see his hands shaking. Before he could say anything, Cullen heard Mnemyn move and, the next thing he knew, a blanket was draped over his shoulders by a tender pair of hands.

With fear still tightly coiled in his gut, it took considerable effort to will himself to look up at her. He was surprised by the kindness reflected in her eyes. She neither pitied nor was repulsed by him. In fact, it seemed all she wished to do was comfort him. Without another word, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and moved, as best she could with her leg injured as it was, to the fire and began stoking it back to life.

Cullen closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. He had to pull himself together. As the minutes ticked by, he was gripped by shame and embarrassment. How could she ever look at him the same way again?

More movement, this time to his left, brought him out of his head and into the present. “Uhm, I’m sorry to ask … but could you give me a hand?”

He opened his eyes to see her holding two tin mugs of tea and no way to bring them over without spilling them. His heart thundered in his chest. This simple gesture, making tea to share with him, made his heart ache all over again. How could one woman be so kind? So perfect?

Without a word, he smiled and leaned forward to take the mugs from her, allowing her to hoist herself back onto her bedroll beside him. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” he said.

“You’d have done the same for me,” she said. She smiled – that gentle, heart melting smile he loved so dearly – and leaned over to gently bump shoulders with him; a playful gesture meant to lighten his mood he presumed. Feeling a lump forming in his throat, he found himself, once again, without the words to express himself so he merely nodded in reply.

They sat in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the sounds of the forest beyond for quite some time before Mnemyn spoke up again. “Your nightmare. Do you—well, do you think you experience these dreams because of the lyrium you’ve imbibed over the years as a templar?”

“I—yes,” he said. He tasted the lie on his tongue and grimaced. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her he’d stopped taking it, now nearly eight months ago, when he’d decided to accept Cassandra’s invitation to join the Inquisition.

“I’ve always suspected Templars suffered the same as we mages,” she said. Her voice was very quiet and he noticed she was staring off into the distance as if remembering something.

“We’re told not to speak of it,” he said. “It’s a weakness which could be used against us.”

She snorted and took a long draught of her tea. “And at what price does this weakness come, I wonder?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve known mages to lose their minds as they grew old, not from age but from the Lyrium we’re encouraged to swill so freely and often.”

There was bitterness in her voice. And sadness. Or perhaps it was fear? He couldn’t quite decide.

“Templars suffer similar fates,” he said.

“I know.”

She knew? He sat dumbfounded for a moment, staring into the fire as he tried to pick up the pieces of his shattered mind. How had she known? The Order forbade anyone of speaking of it. He supposed she’d heard a rumor but her voice rang with such conviction he was sure she was telling the truth.

“My uncle Owain was the youngest of my father’s three brothers and a well loved and respected Knight-Commander,” she said. “He went to the Maker’s side a week after his fifty-eighth birthday; unable to remember my father nor his brothers let alone his own wife and two daughters.”

Cullen turned to look at her and saw tears brimming in her eyes. She was still staring into the fire and, when she spoke again, her voice quivered with emotion. “The Chantry knows what it does to mages and templars alike yet it continues to demand we drink lyrium.

“Has no one ever thought to ask, where does this substance come from?

“No,” she said. “Just drink it, they say. Don’t ask questions. Mind your betters…”

She shook her head, angrily swiping at her tears. “I’m sorry, Cullen. Seeing your nightmare reminded me of my uncle. I-I just worry about y—the people I love…I shouldn’t have—”

 _Did she just—no, I’m imagining things_ , he thought.

 _Of course, talk yourself out of it, nitwit_ , said the voice of doubt.

“No, it’s fine—you’re fine,” he said. “It’s a very real thing for those of us who have taken Lyrium to worry over.”

Despite his shock over her almost admission of her love for him, Cullen took great care to speak to her in a comforting, gentle tone. For reasons he himself would not admit, he reached to wrap an arm about her shoulders. Instead of pulling away, as he’d feared she would, she leaned in closer to rest her head on his shoulder and sighed as if she were glad he’d offered her comfort.

As they sat there, staring into their dying campfire, Cullen felt exhaustion begin to creep over him. Mnemyn seemed comfortable, though, and he had to admit holding her like this was incredibly enjoyable.

She murmured something against his shoulder and he looked down to see she’d dozed off in his arms. He smiled to himself as he marveled over how beautiful she looked, the orange tones of the firelight flickering on her cheeks while silvery moonlight danced across her jet black hair. The contrast was striking and exquisite, like fire and ice. Although he was content as well as extremely reluctant to break contact with her, he knew he could not sleep this way; tomorrow’s ride would be rather painful if he did.

With a sigh, he gingerly laid her back onto her bedroll, covering her with the blanket she’d draped across his shoulders, while soothing her as she murmured in protest. Then he reluctantly turned to climb into his own bedroll, alone.

As he laid there watching her sleep, he marveled over how peaceful she seemed. Somewhere, the one dissonant piece of him that hadn’t been touched— _ruined_ —by Uldred’s torture, dared to hope he could somehow find the courage to tell her how he felt. Perhaps hoping he could find peace and happiness wasn’t forever beyond his reach.

* * *

 

The following morning, Cullen awoke with a strange, heavy sensation on his chest. As his vision swam into focus, he saw a sea of black hair. Mnemyn.

 _Maker’s breath! What happened?_ he wondered, nearly panicking. He glanced down at himself and, seeing them both fully clothed, he dropped his head back with a sigh of relief. But why was she curled up beside him so?

The woman in question stirred slightly, making the most adorable murmuring sounds as she woke. She froze when she realized where she was and Cullen watched as she had, more or less, the same reaction he had only moments ago. She lay very still and he wondered if she was trying to determine if he was awake yet. Deciding that, perhaps this might be an opportunity for them both to extricate themselves from the situation without much embarrassment, Cullen closed his eyes and feigned being asleep.

He felt her gingerly raise her head and turn, presumably to see if he were sleeping. A moment later he felt her hand land on his chest, giving him a playful shove. “I know you’re awake.”

He chuckled, cracking open one eye to look at her. She was blushing bright crimson and smiling apologetically. He grinned back at her and, leaning up on his elbow, reached to gingerly tuck a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. Her blush deepened at this gentle show of affection and she dropped her gaze shyly to her lap.

“I’m—sorry,” she said. “I guess I was cold.”

“No harm done,” he said. Feeling brave, he decided to tease her a bit. He placed his fist on his chest in salute, bowed his head and in a mock-serious tone, said, “I’m glad I could be of service even in sleep, my lady.”

“You are ever the gentleman, Ser Cullen,” she said. He looked up to see she was still blushing, which was rather unusual for her, and was looking at him strangely. Almost—what was it Varric had called it? Doe-eyed? And now, she was blushing _and_ batting her eyelashes at him prettily. Oh Maker. Varric hadn’t been lying. In a moment of panic, Cullen made a snap decision and one he feared he’d regret later.

“We, uh,” he said, “we should probably get moving.”

And there it was. That crestfallen look that felt like a knife in his heart. “Yes, o-of course.”

The moment gone, they abruptly parted and went about preparing for the day’s ride. Mnemyn didn’t seem angry with him at least, and he was very thankful for that. A scant half an hour later, they were on the road again and Mnemyn, seeming to recall his comment from the evening before, brightly recounted a story she’d read about King Maric during Orlais’ occupation of Ferelden.

* * *

They arrived in Haven late in the afternoon of the fourth day. Josephine met them at the foot of the hill which led to residences and raised quite a fuss, worriedly fretting over the Herald’s injury like a mother hen. Leliana, on the other hand, remained her usual cool and utterly composed self. She informed him she’d arranged for the healers to convene in Mnemyn’s cottage immediately.

He nodded curtly in acknowledgement and helped Mnemyn down from his horse. She’d had to rely on Vivienne’s alchemic tonics a great deal to suppress the pain over the last two days and was clearly very tired. He gathered her into his arms and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Not much farther, Herald.”

He felt her nod slightly as he charged up the hill while she remained silent in his arms. The last day and a half of travel had been hard on her and he imagined by now the pain had worn down her reserves. He swept into her cottage and gingerly lay her on her bed, but before he could retreat, however, she caught his hand and murmured her thanks.  He didn’t have the opportunity to respond as they both heard voices approaching and Mnemyn quickly let him go.

Mother Giselle, flanked by Enchanter Ellandra, whom Mnemyn had recruited from the Crossroads, and one other mage, whose name he could not recall, entered. The elder cleric got straight down to business and, in the flurry of activity that followed, Cullen slipped quietly outside.

He made it all of three paces before Leliana caught him. “Alone with the Herald for four days…”

She drawled teasingly, meandering over to him as he stopped to look at her in exasperation. “My _goodness_. How was your trip, Commander?”

“Well enough,” he said. “We made good time and had no trouble. The weather was clear.”

Leliana’s eyebrows rose slightly and when she smiled knowingly, Cullen groaned. Seeing she’d clearly meant something else entirely, he reached up to cover his eyes. “Maker’s breath! Nothing happened. She’s _injured_.”

Leliana snorted and rolled her eyes. “Nothing I said implied anything of a physical nature, Commander.”

Oh, he’d stepped in it this time. “I—you—we—”

Leliana laughed softly at his complete inability to string a rational thought together. But, before he could admonish her, she drifted off toward the chantry smirking. He stared after her for some minutes, letting his annoyance ebb away before haring off to the training yard. If he drowned himself in work, he reasoned, there’d be nothing for Leliana to pester him about and he wouldn’t risk embarrassing himself in front of Mnemyn. Again.


	13. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The advisors plan the Herald's long journey to Therinfal. In the background, someone has been scheming to make sure Blackwall doesn't get to spend any time alone with Mnemyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Next one will have some really awesome art. :D Stay tuned!

_Kingsway 9, Dragon 9:41_

Haven was beset with a flurry of activity after the Herald’s companions returned from the Hinterlands. Cassandra informed the war council that Horsemaster Dennet not only agreed to support the Inquisition but, once he’d selected a number of quality steeds, he’d join them in Haven. She surmised he’d be, at the latest, a day or to behind them which Cullen was a bit surprised to hear. Nevertheless, it was incredible news.

The Herald would have a well-bred, impeccably mannered horse for her journey to Therinfal Redoubt. After her last adventure on horseback, he wagered he wouldn’t be the only one pleased to hear she’d be riding one of Dennet’s palfreys.

Thankfully, the healers had made quick work of the Herald’s injury – she was actually up and walking the second day after they’d returned – and Mother Giselle informed him she’d suffer no lasting consequences. Although he was greatly relieved to hear of her full recovery, Cullen decided against visiting her. Or, more to the point, really being anywhere near her. He was still deeply embarrassed over his nightmare and, after everything that transpired between them, he found he’d become unspeakably flustered at even the mere thought of speaking to her.

While they waited for the last of the Orlesian nobles and Dennet to arrive, the Herald and her team resupplied, rested, and had their gear mended. And while they focused on preparing themselves, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine worked seemingly around the clock to finalize the last minute details surrounding their deployment to the ancient and remote Ferelden fortress home of the Seekers.

Embarrassment over his nightmare was not his only reason for avoiding Mnemyn. He also feared she had begun to suspect he was suffering lyrium withdrawal. Unable to bring himself to reveal this secret yet, he decided staying away was the best course of action. Which, in truth, really wasn’t. Cullen was miserable and everyone around him could see it.

The Herald, for her part, seemed to sense he’d needed his space and had kept her distance.  Though he was fairly certain Leliana and Rylen had been feeding her updates.

There were other oddities he’d noticed during this frantic time and Cullen wasn’t sure if the stress was causing him to imagine things or if the incidents were mere coincidence. Sometimes, as he was walking through the Chantry or to the mess tent, he’d catch snippets of conversations – usually Leliana or Varric speaking to one another or an accomplice – in which they seemed to be overly concerned with where the Herald was. Also, he’d noticed Mnemyn had been summoned more than a few times to Josephine’s office for a variety of seemingly mundane tasks and make-work.

Figuring Leliana was up to something, as she almost always was, Cullen decided to quietly ask Cassandra if she knew what was going on. The way the Seeker refused to meet his gaze and vaguely answered his questions said as much about her involvement as well as the other players involved. By the afternoon of the fourth day, he was almost certain their friends were deliberately trying to ensure Mnemyn spent no time alone with Blackwall.

His suspicions were confirmed late one evening when the Warden actually confronted him. Cullen had been trudging back to his cottage after a grueling evening bickering with his fellow advisors about what concessions the Inquisition would afford the Orlesian nobility for their support. He felt beyond exhausted, which might’ve been why he didn’t notice Blackwall skulking in the shadows just north of Threnn’s tent.

“Y’know, in my day, if two lads were vying for the same lady’s affections, they’d be at least be courteous an’ honorable enough to keep it between them.”

Cullen paused, glancing over his shoulder in the direction the taunt came. “What are you on about, Warden-Constable?”

“You’ve employed quite a number of people to come between the lady Herald and I. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous, Commander.”

Cullen snorted. “I assure you, I’ve had no hand in whatever scheme you think I’m involved in.”

“So you’ve had _nothing_ to do with the Spymaster, Ambassador, Seeker, Qunari, and Madame de Fer conveniently showing up when I’m speaking to her ladyship? Or how she’s been summoned away for any number of made up reasons?”  
  
“I’ve been in the war room,” Cullen said, “planning Her Worship’s deployment. I haven’t had time for such ridiculousness. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Don’t hand me that load of blighted codswallop!” Blackwall said. Cullen watched as the other man’s hands curled into fists and he shifted into an offensive stance. “Just because you’re some high and mighty Inquisition so-and-so doesn’t mean you get carry on as you please! I’ve a right to court Lady Trevelyan just as much as you.”

The insult left Cullen dangerously clinging on to the very last bit of his patience, which itself was fraying rapidly. He’d have to make a decision. Give Blackwall the thrashing of his life and have to explain to Mnemyn later or walk away and let the Warden think he was conspiring against him. Just as he was about to act on the former impulse, he heard a sharp, Nevarran accented voice ring out from the slope above.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Cullen looked up to see Cassandra standing at the top of the hill, her hands perched on her hips. Even for as dark as it was, Cullen could tell by her posture she was not happy.

“Seeker,” Blackwall said, “I—no. The Commander an’ I were just having a friendly conversation.”

“It didn’t sound friendly from where I’m standing, Warden,” she said.

Blackwall heaved a heavy sigh and turned to glare at Cullen, muttering under his breath. “See what I mean? I haven’t a chance.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes and stood a little straighter. “The Seeker’s – nor anyone else’s involvement – has little to do with your chance of success, Warden.”

Blackwall gave him a hard look. “We shall see about that.”

“Indeed.”

Blackwall stormed off in a huff leaving Cullen and Cassandra to watch him depart. The Seeker strolled down the hill, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, and came to stand beside him. “Are you all right, Commander?”

“Bloody fine,” Cullen said. The irritation in his voice was apparent. “I don’t know what Sister Leliana is up to, but—”

Cassandra held up a hand for silence. “This was Her Worship’s idea.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Lady Trevelyan confided in me that she did not feel comfortable with the Warden-Constable’s attentions,” Cassandra began carefully, “She asked Leliana and I to intervene. And, unfortunately, Vivienne and Varric somehow caught wind of our plans and volunteered to assist me in ensuring Her Worship is not disturbed.”

“Why hasn’t she—”

“Told him herself?” Cassandra said. “She has. Twice in fact. I believe the Warden hopes she’s just being shy.”

Cullen growled and lurched toward the direction Blackwall’d gone. Cassandra caught him, placing a firm hand on the center of the plackart of his breastplate, and interposed herself between him and his intended target. “It will do you no good to beat him to a pulp, Commander.”

“It’d make me feel better,” Cullen said darkly.

“And Her Worship would be upset with you,” Cassandra said.

Cullen sighed. The Seeker was right. Still, he didn’t have to like what he’d heard and continued to glare angrily toward the cottage Blackwall shared with Iron Bull and Solas.

“Do I have your word—?”

“I won’t lay a finger on him,” Cullen said. “Though I’d like to point out _he_ was the one doing the threatening. Should he make good on his word, I will defend myself, Cassandra.”

She considered what he’d said for a moment and then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Very well. Good evening, Commander.”

He watched as she turned to continue on her way, presumably to turn in for the night, and suddenly felt the need to tell her something. “Seeker?”

“Yes?” she said. She half turned to glance over her shoulder at him, her brows raised in curiosity.

“Thank you.”

“For what, my friend?”

“For intervening tonight,” he said. And then, in a much quieter and humble tone, he continued. “And for watching over Mnemyn when I cannot.”

Cassandra smiled and gave him a nod. “You are most welcome.”

* * *

At some point during that week Josephine had a couch and several plush chairs brought into the war room. She’d said she was concerned for their comfort during these long planning sessions. Cullen thought the whole idea of having furniture on hand was a bit preposterous but he knew better than to voice his concern, else he’d be tut-tutted by her or Leliana.

It turned out that the furniture got a fair amount of use, as was the case this evening. Cassandra and Josephine had fallen asleep on either ends of the couch; both had slipped off their shoes and boots and looked rather peaceful, their heads propped up in their hands. Leliana had chosen to curl up in one of the plush chairs. She’d changed out of her usual chainmail hours ago and wore a simple, comfortable tunic and trousers.

Cullen, meanwhile, still stood brooding over the map, his lips pressed to a thin line. He heard movement in the hall and looked up to see Mnemyn carrying a tray containing a tea service. Charter was a few paces behind her and carried a tray filled with various treats and sandwiches. Mnemyn smiled apologetically as she stepped into the room and, noting his sleeping companions, kept her voice to a low murmur.

“I’d heard you lot were burning the midnight oil again,” she said, “I thought you could use something to refresh yourselves.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said. He quietly crossed the room and helped her with the tray, sitting it on the end of the war table. Charter followed suit and, as she turned to await instructions, Mnemyn leaned in to murmur something in her ear. Charter smiled and nodded before saluting, hastily making her way out the door.

Cullen fixed Mnemyn with an inquisitive look, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. She merely smiled mysteriously, as if to say he’d have to wait and see what she was up to. He couldn’t help but smile in return, inwardly pleased to see her playful nature hadn’t been dimmed by her recent injury.

“Have you been well, Cullen?” she said.

“I—yes, thank you for asking,” he said. Although he’d meant to sound calm and reassuring, his comment came out more in the way a shy knight-recruit would’ve answered his sweetheart.

Thankfully Charter returned just at that moment, a bundle of blankets in her arms. Smiling, she handed them to the Herald who gave the young scout a grateful curtsey while she murmured her thanks. Charter blushed and silently retreated to the hall beyond, leaving Mnemyn to set about gently placing each blanket across the three sleeping women’s laps. Cullen smiled at her thoughtfulness and, when she’d finished, indicated that perhaps they should move to the other side of the room so as not to wake them.

“Is the planning going well?” she said.

He nodded, turning to look at her for a moment before speaking. “If the blighted Orlesians would get their acts together and get here, we’d be doing much better.”

“Funny to think this entire plan hinges on their capriciousness,” she said.

“Nightmarish more like,” he said. He watched as she leaned over the map of Thedas, scrutinizing one of the many map markers scattered across its surface. Her braid, which hung over her left shoulder, swung as she moved and knocked one of his own markers over. Cullen immediately moved to right it but was distracted when Mnemyn, realizing she’d marred her Commander’s carefully laid strategies, murmured an apology and reached to right it. Their fingers brushed and Cullen, completely flustered, blurted out the first thing on his mind.

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you—”

“It’s quite all right,” she said. Again, there was that warm, caring smile and tender look in her eyes. She reached to place a gentle hand on his bracer and he couldn’t help but look. “I know what happened in the forest bothered you a great deal. I wish there was some way for me to help you.”

He swallowed hard and found he could not summon the words to answer her. Instead, he merely nodded and placed a gentle, gloved hand over her own. He looked up to see her regarding him with a wistful look – doe-eyed, as Varric called it – but could detect she was also considering something. Suddenly, she seemed to have an epiphany and her eyes danced with excitement. “I’ll be right back!”

He watched as she bolted for the door in a dead run, her braid trailing behind her like a pennant as she tugged her cloak into place. A moment later, she shouldered through the great oaken door of the Chantry and disappeared. He stared after her for a moment, confused by her sudden departure. For lack of anything else to do, he meandered to the opposite end of the war room table and poured himself a cup of tea, sipping it as he returned to pondering the caravan’s route one more time. He had been extremely cautious in his planning, scrutinizing every stop and town along with way for likely ambush spots and any other pitfalls.

She returned some minutes later smiling brightly, carrying a tin in her gloved hands. He arched an eyebrow at her in curiosity but she responded by smiling wider and offering him the metal container. He took it and flipped open the lid to find tea, and a very fragrant blend at that. “Tea?”

“It’s a medicinal remedy of my own creation,” she said. “It works to offset the effects of lyrium on the body; headaches, nightmares, and the like.”

Again he was at a loss for words. He swallowed hard and shifted his weight slightly, finally dragging his gaze up to meet her own. She was watching him expectantly, hope clearly reflected in her pretty blue-green eyes. He smiled and managed to mumble his thanks. “I, um, thank you. But won’t you need this, my lady?”

She shot him a crooked grin at his semi-formality and he sighed, smiling. “Mnemyn.”

“I know the recipe,” she said, “I can make more.”

He chuckled and sat the box aside. “As you say.”

“I should probably let you get back to planning,” she said. There was a bit of reluctance in her voice and, as much as he’d like her to stay, they both knew he’d get nothing done if she did. He gave her an apologetic smile which Mnemyn returned as he walked her toward the door. Cullen followed her out into the hall where they paused for a moment to part ways.

“Sleep well, Herald,” he said.

“I shall,” she said. She seemed to want to say more but, instead, a slight blush crept across her cheeks. She smiled nervously and then bid him good night. Cullen watched as she hurried down the long corridor of the Chantry and, as she opened the great oaken doors, how she paused to look back at him with what he believed was longing. _Soon, I promise_. he said to himself. _Please just wait a little longer…_

Behind him, he heard Josephine stir slightly and sit forward, murmuring sleepily. “Do I smell…tea? And… cake?”  
  
He smiled to himself and returned to the war room. Now that his fellow advisors had taken a nap, hopefully they’d also partake in some refreshment, and maybe, just maybe, they’d get something done tonight.


	14. Therinfal Redoubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and her team deploy on their mission to recruit the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt. Four weeks later, Cullen and his fellow advisors receive some foreboding news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've broken the 50,000 word barrier. Woohoo! Bonus for this chapter: An illustration drawn by yours truly! Enjoy :)

_Kingsway 15, Dragon 9:41_

The following morning, Cullen stood in the steely grey dimness of predawn to see Mnemyn off. It somehow seemed appropriate that a cold, misty rain fell on them. Mnemyn had spent most of the pre-dawn hours meeting with and placating the Orlesian nobility whom were complaining loudly and often about having to be up so early. When she’d finally got them settled into their carriages, she trudged over to her horse—a beautiful chestnut brown palfrey named Allegra.

Someone—Varric—wondered aloud how many of the other horses shared names with Lady Pentaghast. They were amused to find out two others Dennet had bought also bore parts of her name, Portia and Filomena. Cassandra seemed to take it all in stride but, by the way Mnemyn harshly chided Varric for being churlish, he suspected the Herald knew how much the comment had secretly hurt the Seeker.

“Maker have mercy,” she said. “You’d think I was asking them to run naked through the Winter Palace with all the fuss they’re making.”

“I’d dare say it might be easier to get them to agree to that,” Cullen quipped dryly. He gave her his hand and boosted her into the stirrups. When she’d settled, she turned to grin down at him. “I’ll be _fine_ , Commander.”

“I can’t help you take to your saddle, Herald?” he said. He’d tried to affect an innocent tone but positively blew it when he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Mnemyn rolled her eyes and laughed in response. When their amusement faded, his gaze settled on their hands, still joined, and wondered if anyone was watching. This was far from appropriate, especially in front of those she commanded in the field. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, as if to say she understood, and let his hand slip from hers.

“I’ll write,” she said.

“Often, I hope,” he said.

Mnemyn smiled wider still and tipped him a regal nod. “I shall—”

“Hey, some of us would like to get a move on before lunchtime. So, if you two lovebirds could just kis—ow!”

“Don’t mind Varric,” Cassandra said, “he’s not a morning person.”

“Or a mid-day person for that matter, darling,” Vivienne added.

“Come t’think of it, he’s not an afternoon type neither!” Sera said.

“And definitely not a rainy day sort—” said Solas. “In fact, is there any weather you can tolerate, child of the stone?”

“All right, all right, we get it. I hate everything. Except Wicked Grace, Bianca and whiskey. Can we go?”

Mnemyn huffed out a sigh and turned back to look at Cullen with an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine,” he said. He kept his voice low enough so only she heard him. “Please be safe…”

“I shall,” she said. Then, noting the uncertainty in his eyes, she added. “I’ll come back, Cullen. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my lady.”  


* * *

  
Four weeks later, a raven arrived with news. As usual, Leliana gathered them together in the war room so she could disseminate the information all at once. Judging by the incredibly grim look on her face, the news was deeply disturbing at best.

As she began to read the missive, sent by Cassandra, Cullen stared at the table in shock. His hand tightened on the pommel of his sword, so tight, in fact, that he heard the leather of his gloves creak and stretch under the pressure he was exerting on the metal in his palm. Josephine heard it too and placed a gentle hand on his forearm, a calming gesture. He turned his head to look at her and saw she was giving him a concerned and deeply sympathetic look.

“Maker,” Leliana said, “it would appear the Envy demon corrupted the upper echelons of the Order. The Knight-Captains were fed red lyrium and were turned into monsters.”

“But—” Josephine said. Cullen could hear the ambassador’s voice crack with fear and felt her hand tighten on his bracer. “H-how is that even possible? Is there no saving them?”

“It doesn’t say, Josie,” Leliana replied.

“Andraste, watch over them,” Leliana said. “Lady Trevelyan was attacked and momentarily possessed by a demon.”

Clapping a hand to her mouth while she composed herself, she handed the note to Cullen.

“What do you mean _momentarily_ possessed?” Cullen said.

“Cassandra explains that a Fade spirit helped the Herald fend off an Envy demon,” Leliana said. “It seems it was masquerading as the Lord Seeker.”

“Maker, have mercy!” Josephine gasped at his side. “Is she all right?”

Cullen’s brows knit together as he continued to read the report. “Yes it seems, thanks to this alleged Fade spirit, she did not suffer any lasting consequences. However, what they discovered at Therinfal appears to be far worse than we could have ever imagined.”

Leliana actually paled as Cullen began to read aloud, her expression, usually calm and composed, was now one of absolute shock. “Lord Seeker Lucius is dead. And large parts of Therinfal are overgrown with red lyrium. Close to a hundred templars—Red Templars, as Cassandra calls them—lay dead. And, apparently, they’ve uncovered documentation outlining how they accomplished making them into these...abominations.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Cullen dropped the letter to the table. For several long minutes, he stared at the map of Thedas, rubbing the back of his neck. He grimaced suddenly, a sharp pain forming behind his eyes. _Not now_ , he groaned inwardly as he realized a lyrium-withdrawal induced migraine was coming on. He gritted his teeth and willed himself through the pain. Beside him, he heard Josephine fretting quietly.

“If—if so many templar lay dead, however will we close the Breach?”

“We will find a way, Josie,” Leliana said.

“I sent her blindly into a trap,” Cullen said. “I never should have forced her to agree to this.”

“You know very well it was the Herald who insisted we court the Templars, Commander,” Leliana reminded him firmly though not unkindly. From her expression, he could tell she’d seen the twinge of pain in his expression. “There is no way any of us could have known about the demon. Or the red lyrium for that matter.”

“Maker watch over them,” Josephine murmured from her end of the planning table.

The meeting dispersed soon after as there was nothing they could do but wait until the Herald or Cassandra sent more news. Josephine buried herself in responding to correspondence while Leliana split her time between praying and reading reports from her vast network of agents.  Cullen returned to the training yard to work out his frustration on a training dummy.

After several hours, although his anger had drained away, he could not shake the feeling of dread. Sweaty, chilled and his head still mildly pounding, Cullen headed to the Chantry, hoping perhaps to find some good news and, also, shake off the chill of the evening.

As he entered the deserted Chantry, he saw Leliana kneeling in prayer in one of the many quiet alcoves. To see the Nightingale this worried did little to calm his own fears. He soon passed Josephine’s office, where he caught sight of her organizing a stack of papers, her brow furrowed in what could be described as distress. Clearly, none of the inner circle were going to get any sleep tonight.

Finding no new missives awaiting him in the war room, he resorted to one of the few things that still brought him comfort, the Chant of Light. Retreating to a quiet corner of the Chantry to light a candle, Cullen settled down on one knee and began to repeat the Canticle of Benediction quietly to himself.

  
“ _Blessed are they who stand before_  
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

 _“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._ _In their blood the Maker's will is written.”_  


Just as he finished Benediction _4:11_ , Cullen found himself reflecting on the last conversation he’d had with the Herald. _She swore she’d come back_ , he thought to himself.

“Andraste, watch over her… for me. For all of us,” he said. His voice was barely a murmur as he pressed his forehead into his clasped hands.

Sometime later, the sound of heavy footfalls dragged him out of his melancholy and he shot to his feet, muttering an oath softly under his breath as he straightened stiffly. He turned the corner, he saw one of Leliana’s messengers speaking with her animatedly. As he approached, Leliana let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker! They are all right, Commander.”

“They’ve cordoned off the keep and evacuated the remaining, untainted templars,” Leliana said. She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke; instead, her eyes were glued to the letter the messenger had brought, “and have retreated to South Reach to rest and organize the remains of the Order before returning to Haven.”

She handed him the note and he read it, letting out a heavy sigh of relief as he did so. When he looked up to hand her it back to her, Leliana pressed a sealed letter into his palm; it was addressed to him from Varric. Cullen looked at it archly for a moment, wondering why the dwarf would be writing to him specifically. Or for that matter, would have the need to send a sealed letter. With a sigh, Cullen broke the seal and began to read.  


_Curly,_

_I have a team of people studying the red stuff back in Kirkwall. They’re just about ready to remove Meredith’s husk of a body for containment so, once that’s done, I’ll have them start on Therinfal as soon as possible. I figured you wouldn’t mind if I took the initiative. Andraste’s ass, this place is a mess; a thousand times worse than Kirkwall and the Temple of Sacred Ashes combined. The Herald has informed the mayor of South Reach of the hazard and the locals have been warned to stay away._

_Oh and hey, good job with whatever it was you said to the Herald on your trip back from the Hinterlands. She’s been sighing and looking at this bunch of pressed flowers when she thinks no one’s watching. She keeps them in her spell book; oddly enough they smell a lot like Leliana but I figured she probably didn’t give them to her. Anyway, I think you’re out of the woods, kid!_

_Varric_  


He shook his head, barely suppressing a smile, as he finished reading and looked up to see Leliana looking at him expectantly.

“Varric says he has a team of people familiar with the disposal of red lyrium. He’ll have them deployed from Kirkwall as soon as possible.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did he say about Blackwall?” Leliana said. From her tone, he could tell she was beginning to lose her patience with his evasiveness.

“Nothing,” Cullen said. He knew she knew he was lying and he didn’t really care. What was more important to him, however, was that he kept the information about his relationship from her. It was no one’s business. That he was tolerating Varric’s help was already irksome at best.

“Commander.” Leliana’s voice was rife with warning as she rocked back on her heels, folding her arms in front of her. She fixed him with an extremely annoyed look and waited for his response.

“Sister,” he said. Cullen schooled his expression into a mask of indifference, hoping his expression would convey that he wasn’t about to budge.

“All right, we’ll do this the hard way.”

Before Cullen could inquire as to what this supposed ‘hard way’ might entail, Leliana darted forward to deftly snatch Varric’s letter away from him. He stood there for a full second, staring after her in shock as she nimbly danced out of his reach. Cullen demanded she give it back and, as he swiped at her with one large hand, Leliana – giggling no less – ducked under his hand to avoid him. He growled and lunged for her a second time but the former bard moved like water, fluid and uncatchable.

Smirking, Leliana tucked the note into the large cuff of her glove and then wheeled, darted in, and grabbed his outstretched hand with both her own. Planting her feet, she twisted his palm anti-clockwise until she’d sent him lurching forward onto his knees, wincing in pain. Once she was sure he couldn’t move, Leliana continued to hold him in place with one hand while retrieving the note with the other. Josephine came out into the hall, probably with the intent of admonishing them, but was immediately flummoxed into a brief silence by what she saw.

  
“Are the two of you quite done behaving like— _like siblings_?” she said. She stomped her foot for emphasis while glaring at them sullenly, her hands on her hips. They both froze and craned their necks to stare at her. Cullen affected a look of embarrassment while Leliana, on the other hand, appeared to be completely unabashed.

“But Josie!” Leliana said. “The Commander’s given her flowers!”

“Maker’s breath!”

He watched as Josephine’s anger melted away, a delighted smile springing to her lips. She let out a trilling giggle accompanied by a delighted clap, her eyes practically dancing in delight. Cullen puffed out a breath and hung his head in defeat. With a laugh, Leliana released him from the wrist lock and he stood, shaking out his hand.

Leaving the two giggling bards in his wake, Cullen made his way to his quarters to clean himself up and turn in for the night. It was nearly midnight now and mostly everyone had settled into their bunks. As he entered the cottage he shared with Rylen, he found his roommate awake waiting for him with a mug of tea.

“Figured you could use some of the medicinal tea Her Worship gave you,” he said.

“That obvious, hm?”

Rylen nodded with a tired sigh. “I’m beginnin’ to think the stress o’ situations like these brings ‘em on.”

Cullen nodded and watched his friend slouch back into his usual chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Looks like you could use some as well.”

Rylen shook his head, “It’ll pass. Besides, she gave you thae tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen said, “she’d want you have some if you needed it.”

Rylen gave him a skeptical look and, when Cullen raised his eyebrows as if to say he’d not take no for an answer, relented with a sigh. “Very well.”

Cullen changed out of his armor and stripped off his under tunics, shivering violently as the air hit his sweat soaked skin.

“Ye’re gonna catch yourself a cold if ye keep this up, y’know,” Rylen said. It was an annoyed warning, Cullen knew, and one Rylen had given him numerous times before. Ignoring Rylen's mild admonishment, Cullen turned to the fire and filled a basin with a bit of water from the kettle. Returning to his nightstand, he proceeded to quickly wash away the day's sweat.

“Oooh, that _is_ very pleasant!”

He looked up to see his bunkmate take a long sip of tea and grin. Cullen smiled. Even if she were hundreds of leagues away, Mnemyn still was capable of bringing joy to her friends. “It is. I shall have to thank Mnemyn again for her thoughtfulness.”

“Oh we’re on a first name basis now, eh?” Rylen said. He was clearly amused and was giving him a skeptical look over the lip of his mug as he took another long sip of tea.

“T’is not improper to call her by her name in private company,” Cullen said.

“I bet yer sweetheart’d be pleased t’hear you say that,” Rylen said.

“She’s not my sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” Rylen said.

“No, not yet,” Cullen agreed tiredly as he leaned back against his desk and took a sip of tea. When Rylen continued to look at him expectantly he sighed. “Soon. I’m—working up to it.”

“Work a little faster, my friend,” Rylen said. “That Warden isn’t letting up.”

“From what Varric says—”

“You’re taking advice from Varric now?” Rylen said, incredulous. “Maker take my eyes. I’ve seen it all now.”

Cullen snorted and wheeled, tossing his wash cloth right at Rylen’s head.

“Hey now!” Rylen laughed and managed to duck, the cloth thudding wetly against the wall behind him.

Laughing, Cullen pulled a clean cream colored tunic over his head and, just as he’d poked his head through the collar, reached up to catch the cloth in midair just inches from his face. He shot Rylen a smug grin, tossing the cloth back in the basin on his night stand.

“How’s your head?”

“Better,” Rylen said. “Though I’d argue it’d feel ten times better if someone weren’t tossin’ things at it.”

“You started it when you ran at the mouth,” Cullen said. He gave Rylen a crooked smile and then lay back in his bunk, crossing his legs at the ankles and propping his head up under his hands.

“Aye, I suppose I did,” he said. With a chuckle, Rylen eased back into his chair to regard him with a smile. “So, what _did_ Varric say?”

“The flowers I gave her seem to have pleased her. She’s pressed them in the pages of her spell book and has been sighing wistfully when she looks at them.”

“That’s promising,” Rylen said. “And we’re going to follow that up with what?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Cullen admitted.

“We’ve got four weeks b’fore she returns. We’ll think of something, don’t you worry,” Rylen said. He stood and stretched, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. “But for now, I say some well-deserved sleep t’is in order.”


	15. Trouble on the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back to Haven proves to be a rollercoaster of emotion. Mnemyn writes to Cullen over the course of her journey and he begins to realize something's gone terribly wrong. Meanwhile, his own nightmares intensify dramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The descriptions of characters at the beginning of the chapter were inspired by sirius draws absolutely amazing dragon age art blog on tumblr.com.

_South Reach, Kingsway 11, Dragon 9:41_

The day had been gruelingly long and, even now, as she and her companions rode into town, Mnemyn knew it was far from over. They were followed by what remained of the Templar Order. In the aftermath of Therinfal, the remaining Knights and Knight-Recruits expressed their concerns over staying anywhere near red lyrium. Mnemyn agreed that they would have to leave, but not before gathering evidence as to what transpired behind closed doors and locking down the now contaminated fortress.

She and her team finished those two grueling tasks by late afternoon and turned to lead their new allies to the nearby town of South Reach. As they arrived, Mnemyn met with Ser Barris, the new de facto leader of what remained of the Order, to discuss their lodging plans. It was decided the templars would bivouac outside the town.

The templars had been reluctant to take anything from Therinfal and Mnemyn couldn’t really blame them. The fear of their food and belongings being contaminated by red lyrium – especially after witnessing the hulking monstrosities their leaders had become – was running high amongst the remaining knights. To assuage their fears, Mnemyn had sent Varric, Solas, and Cassandra ahead to South Reach to procure supplies for their new allies.

Soon, foodstuffs and tents were delivered, and the thankful templars set about making camp.

“We’ll leave after luncheon tomorrow, Ser Barris,” Mnemyn said. “I imagine everyone’s terribly exhausted so please see they get ample rest. I’d prefer to delay here rather than march fatigued templars across Ferelden.”

“Of course. As you wish, Herald.”

She retreated to town and found Cassandra waiting for her outside the inn.

“I have taken the liberty of sending a raven to Haven, Your Worship.”

“Very good,” Mnemyn said. She swung down from her palfrey and, when it bunted her gently on the shoulder, she reached into her saddle bag to retrieve an apple.

“You spoil her,” Cassandra said.

“A happy horse is one who won’t throw me,” Mnemyn retorted.

Cassandra chuckled and gestured to the inn. “Solas has secured lodgings for us this evening. And I believe Varric’s taken the liberty of arranging a hot meal.”

“Excellent,” Mnemyn said. “Whosoever thinks to arrange a hot bath wins my eternal gratitude.”

She sank into the chair Varric had saved for her with a groan. As she adjusted to sitting in an actual chair – she truly couldn’t recall the last time she’d had the pleasure of doing so – she felt exhaustion begin to creep into her limbs. Maker, she felt older somehow. When did that happen? And, Andraste wept, _everything_ hurt.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Varric said.

“Several, in fact,” Mnemyn said.

He snorted and pushed a tankard of what looked like sweet cider in her direction. “That’s a new one, Sunshine. Don’t go overboard, I could really do without Curly yelling at me.”

“Oh, Varric, I don’t know how I’d get on without you,” she said. Leaning in, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him to her side. They both laughed and clanked tankards. “How could Hawke ever let you out of her sight?”

“Wasn’t by choice,” Varric said, his tone rueful. Mnemyn instantly felt awful for the comment and, as if he’d sensed her distress, Varric put a comforting hand over her own as if to say he knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was more than apparent he missed her. His brows knit together as he stared into his ale. “I ever tell you ‘bout the time I met her?”

“I don’t believe you have,” Mnemyn said. It was a lie, of course, but Varric needed to tell this story and, frankly, she loved it when he spun tales for her.

As Varric regaled her with the story of how he’d saved Livia Hawke’s coin from a cutpurse via crossbow bolt through a thug’s hand, she settled in beside him, actually slouching in her chair. Vivienne gave her a disapproving look for a moment and then seemed to think better of it. Mnemyn wondered if the First Enchanter decided she deserved to slouch after the day she’d just had. _Maker have mercy_. She looked up to see Cassandra was also listening, as unobtrusively as possible, and, from the look on her face, she too, liked hearing Varric’s stories. _Interesting. I shall file this one away for later._

As Varric finished his tale, a great many of her companions laughing at his clever words, Mnemyn noticed a prodigious number of villagers had begun to file into the tavern. _Probably here to see the Herald of Andraste,_ she thought tiredly. _I should take Varric up on his idea and start selling autographs. Or tickets. We’d make so much coin to feed the poor._

Cole appeared at her side suddenly, his voice echoing strangely in her ear. “Shining gold, pride of lions. Looking for their brother’s love.”

“What’re you on about—” she said. Mildly irritated by his cryptic mumbo jumbo, Mnemyn turned abruptly in the direction the voice had emanated, but, halfway through her thought, the question died on her lips. There was no one there and she could no longer remember to whom she was talking to or why she’d felt mildly annoyed and confused. _I must be tired; I’m imagining things now._

Conversation ebbed and flowed around her, not that she was paying much attention. Her thoughts were a hundred leagues away in Haven, with Cullen. She sighed wistfully as she dragged her spell book from her ever present satchel, flipping it open to look at a beautiful bunch of pressed white flowers.

Sera crept up and slid into the empty seat on her other side and nearly scared her out of her wits. She slammed the book shut with a snap and Sera gave her a wicked grin. Thankfully, she didn’t comment on the flowers. Or her sudden nervousness. The elf looked this way and that before speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Weirdy ain’t around is he?”

“Weirdy?”

“That—” Sera said. She paused, screwing up her face with a look of disgust. “ _thing_ you insisted on lettin’ come with us.”

“You mean the young man?” Mnemyn said. She squinted, trying to recall his face and name but came up short.

“Yeah, _Weirdy_.”

“No, I…don’t think so,” she said.

Sera snorted and reached over to take a generous glug of Mnemyn’s drink. “Comfortin’, thanks.”

Mnemyn shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Hey, there’s this group of people who’s been watchin’ you.” Sera said.

“What now?”

“Didn’ you say Commander Fussy-britches had fam’ly here?”

“Commander Cullen,” Mnemyn said. “And yes, he has family here.”

“I think that’s them,” Sera said. “No don’t look!”

It was too late, Mnemyn swung around in her chair to glance over her shoulder and, sure enough, across the room sat a trio of blonde, curly headed adults – two women and a man – who were speaking quietly to one another while staring in her direction. Mnemyn blinked as she saw the man; he looked as though he could nearly pass as Cullen’s twin. Sera huffed out a disgruntled sigh. “You’re impossible, y’know that? How’m I gonna teach you any Red Jennyin’ with you being all inquisitive and such? Y’gotta observe without observin’.”

Mnemyn glanced back at Sera and shot her a crooked smile. “I’m sorry, Sera, I guess I’m a slow learner. You’ll just have to keep at it.”

“You’ll get it someday. E’en if I have to beat it into ya.” Sera said. She leaned in and hugged Mnemyn affectionately to disguise the fact that she’d pressed her lips to the Herald’s ear to whisper something. “Don’ look now, an’ I mean it, they’re heeeeeerrrreeee.”

“Excuse me?” said a voice from behind her.

 _All right, observe without observing_. Mnemyn sat still and kept her eyes focused on Sera’s face. The quirky elf smirked and Mnemyn watched as her eyebrows crept toward her hairline; perhaps that in and of itself was an interesting clue? Mnemyn smiled and kept her back to the speaker, a woman, and Ferelden from the sound of it; well, obviously _they_ were in Ferelden after all. She didn’t have the same lilting accent as South Reach, though. More like those from the communities near the Frostbacks. Some tones of Avaar. _Like Cullen’s_. She heard Cassandra suck in a breath and, from her peripheral vision, saw the Seeker rise quickly to her feet – she was surprised.

“How may I help you?”

“You must be Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” said the woman.

“I—yes,” Cassandra said.

“You recruited my brother into your Inquisition,” the woman said. Mnemyn heard her move and, from her peripheral vision, saw Cassandra reach out to shake hands. “I’m Mia Rutherford, t’is nice to make your acquaintance.”

Sera reached over to pick Mnemyn’s jaw up and close it with a snap. She leaned in, pressing her lips to her ear and murmured so only she could hear. “Ohhh, I wuz right! Y’get to meet Commander Fussy-britches’ family! D’awww.”

Mnemyn gave her a gentle elbow to the ribs which set Sera giggling and scurrying away, presumably to tell Iron Bull and, likely, Blackwall.

“And you,” the woman turned to address her. Mnemyn twisted to see her smiling brightly, and, for the first time really took a good look at her. Mia was just slightly shorter than Cullen and had long, deeply curly hair – nearly the same color as her brother’s – which hung to the middle of her back. Her eyes were more hazel than Cullen’s but she could definitely see the family resemblance between them. Dressed in a simple but sturdy Ferelden work dress, her hands clasped in front of her, she smiled down on Mnemyn warmly.

“ _You_ must be the Herald my brother’s told us so little about.”

Mnemyn chuckled. No, she imagined he wouldn’t say much about her. In fact, she was actually more surprised to hear he’d mentioned her at all. Cullen did like his privacy. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Rutherford.”

“Oh please just Mia, Your Worship.”

“Of course,” Mnemyn said. She almost suggested Mia call her by her first name but, remembering how long it took Cullen to do so made her change her mind. Also, there was the fact that every time she attempted to ask this of someone, she was immediately and reverently tut-tutted.

“We were hoping you and your companions would consider having dinner with us, Lady Trevelyan. We’re eager for news of our dear brother,” Rosalie said. She was peeking around her sister’s mane of hair, her honey colored eyes twinkling with excitement over what, though, Mnemyn couldn’t quite tell. The youngest Rutherford looked at her expectantly, her hands clasped as if she hoped she’d accept the invitation.

“Oh, I—”

“We’d be delighted,” Varric said.

“I’m going to throttle you for this later, Varric,” Mnemyn mumbled under her breath. Varric grinned his most charming grin and leaned in to wrap his arm about her shoulder.

“You’ll thank me later, Sunshine. Trust me,” he said. When she slanted him a deeply skeptical look he chuckled. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“No,” she said. There was an air of sullenness to her voice, mostly for Varric’s benefit, but she continued to smile not wanting to alarm the Rutherford siblings.

 

* * *

 

_A letter addressed to Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath from Mnemyn Elisabeth Trevelyan of Ostwick_

_My dear Commander,_

_I’ve just had the honor of dining with your delightful siblings. Mia, Branson and Rosalie all send their best. Spending time with them has been quite informative as well as incredibly fun. You weren’t kidding about your eldest sister’s prowess at chess. Mia bested me twice, though I rallied and salvaged my dignity by winning the final game._

_I can imagine you’re probably panicking just a bit after reading the entirety of the last paragraph—or you’ve gone straight over into anger. Please don’t worry yourself. I know how important your privacy is and as such, I didn’t tell them much. Varric, on the other hand, told them several stories of your exploits as a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall. We all found it very dashing – Cassandra included! I imagine only you can determine how much truth there was to his tales and I’m sure you’ll want to thoroughly grill him to that end upon our return. I’ll make sure to detain him just in case._

_There was one strange aspect to the evening, though. Your eldest sister was very insistent to know the exact nature of our relationship. I told her we were very good friends but got the distinct impression she wasn’t quite satisfied with my answer. I wonder why that might be?_

_Before I forget, I must mention Mia’s asked that I carry a parcel to you; I shall deliver it in person once I arrive. Perhaps then we might have a chat regarding your sister’s suspicions?_

_It’s nearly time to depart, so I must close. Although I cannot end this letter without telling you how much I miss you, Cullen. You are never far from my thoughts and I hope you are well._

_Please give my regards to Leliana and Josephine._

_Yours,_

_Mnemyn_

Cullen stood staring at the letter in his trembling hands. He was awash with emotion. Anger that Mia had grilled Mnemyn about their relationship; elation that Mnemyn met, spent time with and, apparently, loved his siblings; and absolute, crippling fear that the love of his life was now insisting they discuss, and probably formalize, their almost-relationship. He swallowed hard, pausing at the realization that he was now referring to her, at least mentally, as his love. Excitement surged through him, his heart thundering in his chest as he not only accepted this as fact but firmly decided that, yes. He loved her. Fiercely, completely, and with every fiber of his being.

Rylen sniggered from his bunk, dragging Cullen back to the present, and he looked up over the letter to see his friend regarding him with a very amused look.

“Y’look like ye’ve seen a ghost, Cul.”

Weakly, he held the letter out for Rylen to take. Rylen’s eyebrows rose in surprise and, when Cullen didn’t immediately pull the letter away, he rolled from his bunk and crossed the room to take it. He hummed to himself as he read it, his lips pursed in a thin line at first – clearly attempting to make a serious appraisal of the letter. Try as he might, however, Rylen could not keep a straight face and began chuckling after a moment. When he’d finished reading, he handed the letter back to Cullen with a goofy smile plastered across his face.

“I am so glad my predicament amuses you, Rylen.” His dry, nearly acidic, retort was meant to sting but, instead, caused Rylen to chuckle harder.

“You worry too much!”

Cullen tried answering him, his mouth working wordlessly for nearly a half minute before he closed his mouth with a snap. Rylen clapped him on the shoulder and smiled warmly. “I look at this as a blessing from the Maker, my friend.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly disagreeing.

Rylen gave him a little shake, his voice concerned and amused all at once. “T’is clear she cares deeply for you…her humor was meant to tease you gently—that she took Mia’s interrogation bodes well for ye’re relationship.”

“I can’t imagine that’s the case,” Cullen said. His shoulders drooped. “She’s saying she wants to discuss my forwardness for presuming she could care for someone like me. She’ll put me straight and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Did we read th’ same letter?” Rylen said. When Cullen sighed and shoved the letter into a random desk drawer, Rylen’s eyes went wide. “ _Ohhh-no-y’don’t_! Ye’re not givin’ in to self-doubt on my watch, serrah.”

He reopened the drawer and took the letter out once more, holding it up and giving it a shake for emphasis. “She wants t’talk about your relationship not because she’s put off. She’s expressing her interest in th’ only way she knows how, Cul. Humor.”

Cullen slanted him a look of disbelief and crossed his arms in front of him.

In the absolute worst falsetto he’d ever heard, Rylen began to read from Mnemyn’s letter, “I cannot end this letter without telling you _how much I miss you, Cullen_. You are _never_ far from my thoughts and I hope you are well.”

Rylen looked up smiling, his eyes twinkling with joy as he shook the letter at him again for emphasis, his excitement clear. “Does that sound like she wants _nothin’_ to do with you, you _goofy_ Ferelden git?”

Cullen was wincing and, with a smirk, stuck his finger in his ear to ring it out. “It sounded horrible.”

Rylen rolled his eyes and pressed the letter against Cullen’s sternum while giving him a playful push. “Ye’re impossible.”

Despite his reservations, Cullen found himself laughing as he caught the letter and held it fast against his heart. Rylen slanted him a deeply amused grin at the simple gesture and it was Cullen’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I s’pose you ought to get busy figurin’ out what t’say to her when she arrives in three weeks.”

“Yes, I suppose I should…”

* * *

 

Over the course of the next three weeks, Cullen was focused on a great many things. Expanding the mess tents to accommodate the templars, new tents to house them, an expansion of the training yard and latrines, as well as designating a safe storage space for lyrium. Still, he was never so busy that he couldn’t find time to write to Mnemyn.

Something changed about the tone of her letters, however, about half way through the second week she and her companions made their way to Haven. At first, he noticed she’d become far less jovial and much more sober. Toward the end of the third week, her thoughts seemed scattered – she jumped from one idea to the next without warning and often her sentences went unfinished – almost as though she were writing while exhausted. He tried asking twice if she was fine but she either ignored his pleas or truly was too tired to string together an explanation.

This deeply troubled him and, in the remaining two weeks before she returned, Cullen began to feel like a caged animal. She was still a hundred leagues away and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help her. Not satisfied with his current situation, he decided to enlist someone who could help. He wrote to Cassandra in private. He hated going behind Mnemyn’s back but his worry over her wellbeing outweighed his concern over upsetting her.

_Commander,_

_As you well know, I am not especially good at writing letters. I know you are deeply concerned and, therefore, I will attempt to explain what I’ve observed thus far with regard to the Herald’s behavior._

_Approximately three days after the incidents at Therinfal, Sera noticed Her Worship was sleeping fitfully; I was on watch at the time. Over the following week, I experienced similar instances of witnessing her tossing – sometimes accompanied by quiet, distressed murmuring – in her sleep. We are unsure as to why; she will not elaborate and when pressed for details, she will either abruptly change the subject or outright refuse to speak at all._

_Her demeanor has changed drastically. She no longer smiles and Varric remarked that he has not heard her tell a joke in well over a week. She is also extremely irritable which, as I’m sure you will agree, is completely out of character for her._

_To say that I am concerned would be an understatement. She is not herself. These, as you are well aware, are often hallmarks of possession. However, I can sense no trace of a demonic presence and am at a loss for what has caused this rather dramatic shift in personality. I assure you I will continue to vigilantly observe and assist her as I can._

_Please continue to write to her. Your letters seem to be the only thing that brings her any measure of happiness or comfort._

_Respectfully,  
Cassandra_

His own dreams, which had become almost tolerable and sometimes actually delightful for a change, now turned dark once again. On several occasions he was awakened by Rylen shaking him. Although it was evident he had been having a nightmare – he was covered in sweat and his heart was pounding – he could not remember much of them at first.

As the third week came to a close, the nightmares had worsened considerably and, although he could now remember them, they were jumbled – almost as fractured as Mnemyn’s letters – and peppered with snatches of red lyrium and great beasts made of jutting, jagged red crystals who marauded across a darkened, unfamiliar castle-scape.

This, above anything else, confused him the most. He’d never seen the creatures she or Cassandra had described in their reports. How was he seeing them now? Was this just the stress of worrying for his love’s health playing on his fears? Or was it his residual guilt over leaving the Order and his brothers and sisters to this unspeakably grisly fate?

He spoke to only Rylen about the dreams and, through their combined efforts, they catalogued each new nightmare in the hopes they could find some clue as to what might be causing them. He was extremely thankful for Rylen’s patience and incredibly scientific mind for he’d thought of questions Cullen had never considered.

By the seventh day of the third week, the dreams were so disturbing that he began to actually wish he could speak to Solas. He and the elven mage had never gotten along terribly well – it was as if they more or less tolerated one another – but Cullen wondered if Solas’ expertise in the Fade and dreamwalking might shed some sort of light on his predicament.

With a meager seven days left before Mnemyn arrived, Cullen was still completely at a loss on how to reciprocate her gift of tea. Finally, that evening as he lay in bed reading, inspiration struck. They both enjoyed books and he knew of a bookseller in Redcliff village who often had interesting and sometimes difficult to come by books for sale.

Deciding he didn’t want to purchase something she already had, he decided he’d have to do something a little questionable, at least by his own exacting standards. He’d sneak into her cottage and see what books she had on hand. The moon was, thankfully, well into its waning phase so there was little light to be seen by. He waited until the following evening, pretending to sleep, and sometime well after midnight, crept out into the courtyard between his and her cottages.

Seeing no one about, he quietly made his way to the door and, having ‘borrowed’ the keys from Josephine earlier in the day, unlocked it to slip silently inside. He stood with his back against the door for some minutes, his heart thundering in his chest. _I shouldn’t be here_ , he thought, _this was a dreadful idea_.

He let out a sigh. _This is ridiculous, I’m just… looking around. It’s not as though I intend to steal anything._ He made his way to her bed side table where she’d likely have a candle and, upon locating it, lit it. Blinking, he moved to her bookshelf to quietly peruse her small but diverse collection of books. As he stood there reading the spines, he realized he could detect the slightest hint of crystal grace perfuming the air. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent wash over and calm him and smiled as he thought of the last evening she was in Haven. _How beautiful she looked_.

Taking one last look at the books on her shelf, he noted most of the tomes were related to either magic or alchemy but there didn’t appear to be any books for recreational reading. Odd. Thankfully, he also didn’t see any tomes on the Grey Wardens and, as luck would have it, he knew the bookseller in Redcliff had one the last time he’d been there. Hopefully, he still had it.

Deciding he’d gotten what he’d come for, he moved to place the candelabra back where he’d found it and, as he bent to blow it out, he happened to see something poking out from beneath Mnemyn’s bed. It was a book. _Strange that it’d be on the floor_ , he thought as he bent down to examine it. As he brought it into the light, Cullen immediately wished he’d never caught sight of it. It was a copy of _Carmenum di Amatus_ , not only one of the more sexually themed books of poems known throughout Thedas but one banned by the Chantry.

 _What is she doing with this?,_ he thought frantically. Then he noticed she’d bookmarked something. With one of the letters he’d written her. _Maker’s breath! Reading it, apparently_.

Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he opened the book to the marked page to read:

 _His lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer_  
_Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night._  
_His eyes reflect the heavens' stars, the Maker's light._  
_My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there -_  
_Not merely housed in flesh, but brought to life._

Instantly, he felt his face flush and he snapped the book shut, placing it back where he found it. Blowing out the candle, he raced for the door and, in his haste and frustration, didn’t look outside to see if the coast was clear. He breezed through the door and, as he turned to shut and lock it, he heard footsteps.

“Commander?”

It was Josephine. _Thank the Maker for small miracles_.

“Yes, Ambassador?”

“Were you…just in the Herald’s cottage?”

 _No sense in lying, I’ve been caught red handed_. “Yes.”

She scrutinized him for a moment, her hands going to her hips. “And you’re blushing. May I ask _why_ you were in the Herald’s living quarters in the dead of night?”

“I was…looking at her books.”

“Her books?”

“Yes.”

Josephine started toward him, her hand held out. “The keys, if you please. You took them from my office, did you not?”

“I—yes.”

“Commander this is so unlike you.” Her mild admonishment was, apparently, enough to make Cullen feel sufficiently guilty and out tumbled his confession.

“I wished to see her collection of books because I was planning on riding into Redcliff tomorrow to buy her a new one.”

“Oh,” she said. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that answer. _Though what did she think I was doing in Mnemyn’s cottage? Maker, I don’t even want to contemplate that…._

“I-in that case, I shall keep this matter to myself. Good evening, Commander.”

“And to you, Lady Montilyet.”

He watched as she turned toward her own cottage and soon did the same. Before he’d gained the door, however, he heard her speak once more.

“If the next time you … find yourself at a loss for gift ideas for Her Worship, you can always ask for my assistance Commander.”

Blinking, Cullen looked over his shoulder at Josephine, shocked. “I—thank you. That is very gracious of you, Ambassador.”

“You are most welcome, Commander. Sleep well.” She gave him a warm grin as she curtsied and, as she slipped into her quarters, Cullen could’ve sworn he heard her sigh wistfully.

Cullen stood there for a moment, struggling to process what’d just occurred. Stepping into his own cottage, he was left feeling baffled by Josephine’s offer of help. Of his two fellow advisors, he reasoned she would be much more likely keep the information to herself. Which was good. The last thing he needed was for Leliana to have more ammunition with which to tease him.

 


	16. Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald returns to Haven and Cullen begins to realize whatever happened at Therinfal is worse than he'd originally imagined. Unwilling to see her suffer, he and the other advisors try to help and support her as best they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slight departure from the game's cannon in relation to the dialog post Therinfal in the war room as well as how Cole is viewed. After that, our story begins to take it's own shape. I am very excited to bring these next few chapters to you. I think they'll show how Cullen deals with his PTSD to some degree - at least much better than the game did - and illustrates where their relationship stands in his mind. Finally, this may seem very doom and gloomy but you'll see it has a satisfying payoff in a few chapters. Our Commander won't let his lady love suffer!

_Haven, Firstfall 10, Dragon 9:41_

The Herald, her team, and a small contingent of veteran templars arrived an hour before dusk on 10 Firstfall. The main body of the Order had been waylaid due to heavy snows in the mountain passes and, thus, the Herald decided to ride ahead to inform the Inquisition to make ready for them. It was snowing hard and they had ridden through near blizzard conditions. Both Cullen and Leliana met them as they arrived tired, wet, and chilled to the bone.

“Come,” Leliana said, “Let us get you warmed with a meal. Charter, please run ahead and ask the staff to prepare baths and fetch clothes for the Herald and her companions.”

Charter saluted and tore off for the Chantry without another word. When she’d gone, Leliana led them to the mess tent, which had been busily preparing for their arrival. Cullen fell into step beside Cassandra, his gaze intently focused on Mnemyn. She had remained utterly silent since they’d arrived and had only met his gaze once. Even when she had looked at him, she showed no sign of being pleased to see him. _She’s half frozen,_ he thought, _of course she’s not terribly cheerful. She’ll feel better after a meal and a bath._

Cullen knew this wouldn’t be the case, though; Cassandra’s steady stream of letters had informed him she’d remained silent for the month it took for them to trek across Ferelden. Despite this, he tried to remain hopeful for as much his sake as Mnemyn’s.

* * *

 

An hour later, the advisors gathered in the war room to prepare for the Herald’s debriefing. Cullen could sense there was a definite air of unease in the room as they organized their reports. Normally, Josephine would be humming softly as she worked and he and Leliana often cracked wise at one another but today they all remained uncharacteristically quiet.

Charter appeared in the doorway, announcing her arrival by clearing her throat. Cullen looked up to see her shivering, her cloak covered in snow and ice. She bowed her head and saluted, waiting for Sister Leliana to acknowledge her. Leliana inclined her head slightly and Charter told them her news. “Her Worship is on her way, Sister Nightingale. She just departed her cottage and should be here any moment.”

“Thank you, Charter,” Leliana said, “Please go warm yourself, you look half frozen.”

“Of course, Sister,” Charter said. She bobbed a curtsey and wheeled, halting as she saw the Herald in her path, then smoothly navigated around her murmuring a reverent greeting to her as she fled the great hall of the Chantry.

The Herald, with a gloomy Cassandra at her side, glided into the war room, her face utterly expressionless. She was dressed in dark leathers this evening and was bundled up in a thick scarf and winter cloak over her clothes.

“Still cold, Your Worship?”  
  
Mnemyn smiled tightly at him in return but otherwise made no attempt to answer him.

“Shall we begin the meeting?” Josephine asked. Again, Mnemyn said nothing, merely folding her gloved hands in front of her while focusing on the large map between them. Cassandra, clearly irritated by Mnemyn’s morose silence, huffed out a sigh.

“From your reports,” Leliana said, “it would seem a great many things went wrong within the Order.”

“That would be a supreme understatement, Leliana,” Cassandra said. There was a sharp edge to the Seeker’s voice and Cullen wasn’t entirely certain if it was directed at the Herald or the Order. He soon had his answer when she began to rant.

“Officers betraying their soldiers. Templars without leaders. A demon imitating the Lord Seeker. We should have taken them to task!” Cassandra said. “The crimes they’ve committed—”

“Were committed by their officers,” Cullen said. He was pleased he’d managed to keep his tone firm but neutral. The last thing he wanted was to ostracize one his greatest allies, especially with Leliana on the war path. “The soldiers of the Order will serve.”

“These crimes have put them at our mercy,” Leliana said, “yet the terms of this alliance do not benefit the Inquisition as they should. You should have consulted us, Herald.”

Cullen watched as the Nightingale turned her sharp, deeply annoyed gaze upon the Herald. They stared at one another, and an excruciating tenseness hung in the air between them. Both continued scowling at one another for several beats and he watched as Mnemyn’s lip actually began to curl into a slight snarl. Would they be settling their differences with daggers and staves today?

He caught Cassandra’s gaze and held it for a moment before inclining his head toward Mnemyn in silent question. The Seeker tipped him a nearly imperceptible nod, indicating she would restrain Mnemyn if needed. He nodded in return, arching his brows slightly as if to say he’d try to restrain Leliana.

He looked up to see that neither woman was willing to back down. Finally, Mnemyn narrowed her eyes and spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sister Nightingale,” Mnemyn said, “I was up to my eyeballs in decaying red lyrium monsters in a castle completely saturated by the vile substance. A decision had to be made and I made it. If you find such fault with my regretful logic – or lack thereof – then perhaps next time, you should go in my place.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly not pleased with Mnemyn’s biting commentary. “You know that’s not possible, Your—”

“Then, as the Seeker is want to say, _deal with it_.”

Cullen watched as Cassandra chortled from the Herald’s side, ducking her head and covering her mouth with back of her gloved hand in an attempt to hide her laugh. Josephine, on the other hand, actually gasped and covered her mouth in shock. Leliana, who’d bore the brunt of Mnemyn’s cutting remarks, actually started and glanced away, blinking. _That’s rather impressive to get such a reaction out of the Nightingale_ , Cullen thought as he coughed into his hand to cover a laugh.

“Yes, well, moving on,” Josephine weakly managed to say, clearing her throat. “We will still need to secure a reliable source of lyrium for them,” Josephine said.

“Will lyrium traders of Orzammar even work with us since the Chantry’s censure?” Cassandra said.

Cullen stood silently trying his best not to sneak glances at the Herald from his position across from her. It was difficult and, to distract himself from her, he stared at the Waking Sea contemplating how easily the ambassador had been able to change the subject. He supposed no one wanted to risk Mnemyn’s ire right now and probably felt it best to let the matter drop. Cassandra hadn’t been joking when she’d said her Ladyship’s demeanor had changed.

“Offered enough coin and they shall,” Leliana said.

“Very well,” Josephine said, “I shall secure the necessary funding. How many templars are expected?”

“A few dozen veterans travelled with the Herald ahead of the main body of the Order to help close the Breach,” Leliana said.

“How much time would they require to prepare once the Lyrium has been secured?”

“They’ll likely not require more than a day or two,” Cullen said. Just as he’d finished speaking, a young man materialized, crouching on the center of the war table scattering map markers and sending everyone, save the Herald, backpedaling.

“A day at most,” the intruder said. “Templars like to be punctual.”

“Maker!” Both he and Cassandra drew their swords, Cullen’s combat instincts immediately took over and he began to analyze the intruder, looking for weaknesses. Right away, he noticed the young man had an extremely vacant expression – from what little he could see of his face due to the enormous hat he wore – and that expressionlessness was reflected in the odd, almost airy, blank way he spoke. He was dressed in little more than patched rags and didn’t appear armed though that didn’t mean much; he could have daggers or poisons concealed on his person.

Without even thinking, Cullen began to move – aiming to interpose himself between the intruder and Mnemyn – his instincts screaming _protect! Protect!_ To his shock, he watched as Mnemyn interposed herself between him and his intended target and threw her up hands, palms out, in a peaceful, non-threatening gesture. “Cullen, _wait!_ ”

“I came with you to help,” the intruder said. It seemed like he was only speaking to Mnemyn, and showed absolutely no sign of being afraid of Cassandra’s or his swords as they stood ready to strike. “I would’ve told you before but you were busy…”

“That’s fine Cole,” Mnemyn said. “You just startled us appearing out of thin air.”

Cullen was positively baffled by how gently she was speaking to the intruder. _Why in the Maker’s name would she behave in such a fashion?_ Then it dawned on him, perhaps this man—or thing—was the reason her demeanor had changed. It was a demon. It _had_ to be.

While her attention was focused on the demon, Cullen moved quickly and quietly to circle around behind the Herald. When she glanced to the spot he’d just vacated, he saw his opportunity. Like lightening, Cullen shot forward, caught her by the wrist with his free hand and gingerly pulled her behind him.

“I wasn’t air,” the thing replied, “I was _here._ You didn’t see me. Most people don’t until I let them.”

“Guards! Fetch me what templars we have on hand. _Immediately_ ,” Cullen said. Mnemyn tried stepping past him, muttering angrily at his back, but, again, Cullen was too quick. Gently, he wrapped his arm about her waist and jerked her backward against him, holding her firmly in place. She struggled, her teeth clenched, and tried to wrench herself free of his iron-like grasp. “This is for your own good, Your Worship.”

The demon climbed off the table now, again, seeming completely undisturbed and unafraid of those circling to trap it. Cassandra said, “This creature is not what he appears—”

“A moment if you please, Cassandra,” Leliana said. “I would like to hear why he came.”

“You help people. You made them safe when they would’ve died. I _want_ to do _that_. _I_ can _help_.”

“Why and how would you help the Inquisition?” Mnemyn said. She’d stopped struggling against him for the time being, her eyes fixed on the demon.

“The hole in the sky is too loud for spirits to think. It’s pulling, pushing out pain. I want to stop it.”

“How altruistic of you,” Cassandra said.

“ _I want to help_ ,” Cole said. “I can be hard to see. I can kill things that would hurt people. I-I won’t get in the way!”

There was conviction in his tone as he pleaded his case with the Herald. Cullen had seen this before. Demons used whatever they had at their disposal—whatever they could pick from your brain to twist and use against you—to ensnare their prey. Mnemyn, for all her good qualities, did have faults and her great compassion sometimes numbered among them as was the case today.

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal,” she said. “I could not have defeated Envy without him.”

“ _This_ is the helpful Fade spirit you spoke of?” Cullen said, incredulous.

“Yes,” Mnemyn said. “He really is just trying to help.”

“I won’t be in the way,” Cole said, “Tiny. No trouble! No notice taken unless _you_ want them to.”

“Herald,” Cullen said. His tone was, possibly, a little harsher than he’d intended because Mnemyn turned to fix him with an angry glare. Still, he blundered onward. “You’re not _honestly_ suggesting we give him run of the camp?”

“Not freely perhaps,” Josephine said, “but it seems a waste to— Hold on…”

Before she could finish, there was a slight noise and a rush of cool air which drew everyone’s attention to the empty space in front of Cullen and the Herald.

“Where did he go?” Cassandra said. She swung around to look behind her and, seeing nothing there, swore under her breath.

By now several templars had arrived and stood at attention, waiting for his command. He shook his head, indicating they should wait while he waited to see how this played out. The squad leader, one of the veterans Mnemyn had brought with her – Ser Markham of Highever, he believed – nodded in return and instructed his fellows to stand fast.

“I’m sure we’ll find him somewhere,” Mnemyn said. Her voice seemed so passive and unworried by the demon’s sudden disappearance that it was all Cullen could do to hold back an angry tirade of comments. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and let Mnemyn go. She shoved away from him, turning to fix him with a positively virulent glare – her eyes were so filled with anger for him that Cullen nearly flinched and looked away.

“Yes, we must make sure of that,” Leliana said. There was a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth and Cullen could see just a hint of mischief in her eyes. _Maker have mercy. Of course she’d support him staying, he’s as stealthy as a bard._ “I’ll have people watch the boy. But let’s not be distracted from the Breach.”

“Indeed,” Cullen agreed. Sheathing his sword, he fixed Mnemyn with a somber look. “Once the templar veterans are prepared, we’ll need your input on the final phase of planning. I’d suggest taking this time while we wait for the lyrium to arrive to rest and prepare.”

When she merely nodded in reply, he felt his temper flare ever so slightly. Why had she become so dispassionate? This was beyond being road weary. There was something wrong, almost as if she’d walled herself off from— _everything_. Everything except the _thing_ that’d just invaded the war room. Yes, it had to be a demon. She wouldn’t behave like this unless under a demon’s thrall. He felt bile rising in his throat and, once again, clenched the pommel of his sword so hard that his leather gloves creaked under the pressure he was exerting.

He felt his chest tighten as he watched her turn and walk away, so quickly in fact that the templars in the hall nearly had to jump out of her way. And she’d left without so much as a passing glance at him. While it hurt to see her behave in this way, he couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about the way she carried herself now. Then suddenly, it hit him.

He knew what had been so familiar; the dead look in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped, how she refused to meet and hold anyone’s gaze for more than a second. The effects of fear were written all over her. Shame and hurt and fear; those were the exact feelings which plagued him in the wake of his ordeal in Kinloch Hold.

_No, no, **no**_. he thought, nearly panicking. _She’s suffering. I can’t let this happen to her. I_ won’t _._

“Herald, a moment if you please?” He watched as she paused, her shoulders slumping slightly as though she’d hoped to escape without his notice.

“Commander,” she said. She barely turned to look over her shoulder at him, and, as she spoke, he could hear a deeply annoyed tone to her voice. “I appreciate your concern but I am really not in the mood for a lecture on how I, such a _delicate_ and _precious_ commodity, am in danger of being possessed. Cole is _not_ a demon and that is my _final_ word on the matter. _Good night_.”

Cullen swallowed hard and nodded in return, her words stinging just as hard as if she’d slapped him. He watched as she disappeared into the hall, his stomach in knots and turned to brace his hands on the surface of the war table as he fought to get control of his emotions. To his left, he heard Cassandra turn, presumably to watch the Herald storm off, and sigh in exasperation before addressing the gathered templars

“Ser Markham, would you please see the Herald safely to her cottage? Once there, I would greatly appreciate it if you would post two knights-templar for her protection. We do not know if that thing poses a risk to her, but I will take no chances with her safety.”  
  
“As you command, Seeker,” Ser Markham said. Cullen heard him salute and order his squad to follow. When they’d gone, Cassandra moved to stand at his side and leaned back against the edge of the planning table.

“This has actually been the most she’s spoken in at least a week.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand…. What happened to make her behave in such a fashion?”

“None of us experienced what happened in those few seconds Envy attacked her. The event happened entirely in her mind and all she would say was that the demon showed her things – what the future would be like if it took her place.”

Cullen huffed out a breath and turned to glower at the map of Thedas, his eyes immediately falling to the spot Therinfal occupied. “I—we can help her. Surely she knows this. Why shut us out?”

“I suspect she’s keeping you at arm’s length because she doesn’t wish to worry you with it—whatever _it_ is—or she fears you’ll see her as weak.” Cassandra’s voice had dropped to a murmur and he heard a gentleness that he’d only heard on a handful of occasions. “She still cares for you, Commander, of this I am sure. We must be patient and give her time to work through this.”

_No_ , he thought, _she needs someone to firmly drag her out of this melancholy._ But, instead of informing the Seeker of his plans, he decided to keep his own council. “Yes, of course.”

Cassandra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile before turning to leave. “Good night, Commander. Don’t stay up overlong. We have much to do tomorrow.”

To his left, he heard someone clear their throat. To his surprise, Leliana was nowhere to be seen; only Josephine stood at the opposite end of the table. “Is the Herald well?”

“I—am unsure,” he said.

“Lady Pentaghast mentioned earlier Her Worship has not been eating,” she said. He watched as Josephine’s brow furrowed in concern, little worry lines creasing her forehead. “Clearly, something is amiss. Will you speak to her, Commander?”

“Me?” he said. He gave the ambassador an incredulous look and shook his head. “After what just occurred, I’d wager I’m her least favorite advisor, Lady Montilyet.

“She respects your opinion, Commander. Surely she will listen to you. You _must_ try.”

Cullen nodded and Josephine quietly excused herself, leaving him to his thoughts. He paced for nearly a half hour, wondering how he could convince Mnemyn to at least speak with him. Agitated with the situation, he went to work out his frustrations in the yard.

* * *

 

It was nearly midnight when he finally relented. His shoulder aching, covered in sweat, Cullen trudged from the training yard, having beaten the stuffing out of no less than five training dummies. He’d made it about halfway to the cottages when he heard a commotion coming from the Herald’s quarters.

His heart in his throat, Cullen sprinted the last few yards and, as he drew near, he saw Cassandra standing in the courtyard outside the Herald’s cottage. She was in her dressing gown and boots, wrapped in a shawl, with her braid hanging loose over her right shoulder. Her arms were crossed in front of her and her expression grim. Over her shoulder, he could see knight-templars Aiden and Rickard standing at attention, framing the Herald’s door.

As he approached, he heard the gentle timber of Josephine’s voice as she spoke soothingly to the Herald; what she was saying, he couldn’t hear. He noticed Leliana was nowhere to be seen and suspected she, too, was inside the Herald’s cottage. Very likely, the Nightingale was listening to and observing Mnemyn’s every word and expression to coldly and calculatingly dissect for clues later. Cassandra glanced at him as he drew nearer and, at his questioning look, led him a few paces away to explain.

“We were awakened by shouting.” The Seeker paused, glancing toward the Herald’s door, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “She was yelling _your_ name as though she feared for your life.”

“Nightmares.” Cullen muttered, his brow furrowed with concern. So he had been right in thinking hadn’t been sleeping. _Well, at least now we know_. _Although that does nothing to explain why I’m the focus of her dreams._ He cast a concerned glance in the direction of her door before returning his gaze to Cassandra, his expression tense. “Mages are no strangers to night terrors due to their connection with the Fade. But your letters said she only seemed to experience nightmares for three evenings.”

“Yes, that is correct, Commander.” Cassandra paused, as if considering something, her mouth pressed to a thin line. “As I said my letter, I believe Solas has been helping her suppress them somehow.”

“Have you had any luck asking him?”  
  
“No,” Cassandra said, “he’s been dreamwalking since our return.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, minutes ticking by as they waited for Josephine to emerge to tell them what’d happened. His brow furrowed in thought, he focused his gaze upon the flickering candles on the wall across from him.

“With the Veil torn,” he said, “perhaps she’s being more adversely affected because she’s in such close proximity to the Breach?”

“I suppose it is possible,” Cassandra conceded. “Though, if I had to guess, whatever she saw when the Envy demon had her trapped is the root cause.”

His heart clenched and Cullen had to will himself not to immediately rush to Mnemyn’s side, his instinct to protect and shield her nearly overwhelming him at least once. Cassandra noted his conflicted look and said, “I still can sense no sign of possession, Commander.”

“Praise Andraste,” he said quietly. Though he was thankful she misread his intent, he had to admit thought of the Herald becoming possessed was most distressing.

Josephine and Leliana emerged from the Herald’s quarters just then, closing the door quietly behind them.  Like Cassandra, they were both in their dressing gowns, wrapped in blankets. As they approached, Josephine pulled her makeshift shawl tighter around herself, shivering.

“It was as you feared, Seeker. She is deeply unsettled by whatever the Envy demon did to her.”

“Did she reveal what she saw?”

“Yes, actually,” Josephine said. “She is so exhausted, the poor dear, that it took very little convincing to get her to open up.”

“She told us that the Envy demon impersonated me,” Leliana said. “And she had to watch as I slit your throat, Commander.”

_Now there's a frightening thought. Leliana can be terrifying on a good day._

“And afterward, somehow you stabbed her – or something that appeared to be wearing her face – repeatedly.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, “it’s no wonder she’s not sleeping.”

The four of them remained silent for a time, all deeply troubled by this revelation. What else had she not told them? And, for that matter, why did she feel the need to conceal this from them?

“She should be fine for the rest of the evening,” Josephine said, “I’ve given her a small dose of a sleeping draught.”

“I would suggest one of us speak to her tomorrow,” Leliana said. Three sets of eyes now focused on him.  
  
_Here it comes._

“Commander, she’ll listen to you,” Josephine said.

“I agree,” Leliana said. “You must make her see reason.”

“I will interrogate— _speak_ to Solas. Surely there’s some way to wake him. I will attempt to discern what he’s done to help her mask this and why he didn’t bring this to one of us first.”

It was then Cullen noticed both Sera and Varric standing nearby, both looking extremely worried. He didn’t know how long they’d been standing there but, from the look of near panic in Sera’s eyes it’d been long enough. Turning back to his fellow advisors briefly, he quietly agreed he’d speak with Mnemyn and then excused himself.

“Shit, what happened, Curly? Is she okay?”

Sera said nothing. In fact, she refused to look at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Mnemyn’s door, her hands clenched in fists so tight he wondered how she wasn’t cutting her palms with her nails.

“The Herald experienced a nightmare which we think it stems from what she saw at Therinfal.”

“You _think_?” Sera said. “An’ not nobody’s stopped t’consider this ‘as nothing to do with that mad bastard she insisted we bring back with us, eh?”

“We don’t know—”

“ _Maker_ , _take you!_ You were a templar, _how_ can you let that thing _hurt_ her?”

“Easy kid, Curly’s doing his best.”

“His best ain’t good enough!”

Varric sighed in exasperation. “Maker’s balls, Sera—”

“No,” Cullen said. “She’s right.”

“She’s—I’m— _what?_ ” they said in unison.

“You’re right.” Cullen said. He straightened slightly, standing a bit taller as he decided this ended now. He’d watch over her the rest of the evening and, when they awoke in the morning, he’d demand she tell him what was going on. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a vigil to carry out.”

He’d taken about three steps when he heard Sera speak, her voice barely a murmur. “Thank you, Commander.”

He nodded though he didn’t turn around, figuring it’d be best to just walk away. It had to have been difficult for Sera to thank him. Still, it was a huge step forward. She’d even called him by his proper title instead of Fussy-britches.

The following morning, Cullen awoke to find Mnemyn’s bed empty; she’d taken great care to leave without waking him it seemed. He cursed under his breath and stalked off to his cottage to get ready for the day. He set out for the yard, telling Rylen that, should their network of aides be unable to locate the Herald, he’d be turning daily operations to him.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed Mnemyn seemed always one or two steps ahead of his aides and, by the appointed hour, Cullen told them to go back to their duties. It was abundantly clear that not only did she know he was looking for her but she was deliberately avoiding being confronted. Annoyed, Cullen spent luncheon devising a plan to outwit her. He hoped if he cornered her and could get her to hear reason, her resolve would crumble and he’d be able to get her to open up. If anything, they’d been friends and that had to account for something. 

She proved to be a wily adversary, however, and Cullen found himself at a loss for how she’d managed to so expertly avoid him for the remains of day. Suddenly it dawned on him. The spirit Cole—or whatever it was—had been helping her.  

At a half past six that evening, Cullen still hadn’t managed to locate her. She hadn’t come back to her cottage and was now literally nowhere to be found. In a last ditch effort to find a lead, he asked the sentries if they’d seen her.

“Yes, Commander,” said one of them. “She passed through here several hours ago.”

“And you didn’t think her going to the temple alone was odd?” he demanded sharply, “Why did you not stop her? Or tell someone for that matter?”

The guards wilted under his angry gaze, stumbling over their words as they tried to give him some sort of explanation. He heaved out a breath, his hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. It was dark now and the snow was falling harder what was she thinking going out there in the middle of storm? He shook his head and pointed at the first guard. “No matter. You, run to the paddock and ready a horse.”

“And you,” he turned to the other sentry, “No one else passes. You will make no mention of what has transpired to _anyone_ until I return, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Commander,” the guard stammered in reply, saluting nervously before returning to his post.

Satisfied, Cullen spun on his heel and set off for the horse paddock. He made a short detour to his tent, where he collected his cold-weather cloak, and by the time he’d arrived at what passed for a stable, the horse stood ready. He gave this sentry same warning he’d given his partner and then swung into the saddle and trotted the horse smoothly out of the paddock. As he cleared the gate, he snatched a nearby lantern which hung from a post, and proceeded to put his heels to the horse.


	17. Tears in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds the Herald and, to his dismay, things really are as bad as he feared. Determined to make sure she doesn't suffer as he did nearly a decade ago, the Commander tries to convince a sleep-deprived, emotionally exhausted Mnemyn to let him in so he can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Keira who said she was on pins and needles for the next chapter! Thanks everyone for the lovely comments and for reading. And to anyone who can find the DAO easter egg in this one, I salute you! ;)

_Road to the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes, Firstfall 11, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen spent the entire ride to the Temple of Sacred Ashes or, more accurately, what little remained of it, wracked with fear. What if she’d strayed from the path and gotten lost? There was all manner of predators in the woods; wolves, bears, and worse, demons. Had she armed herself before leaving? Was she warm enough? And what had she been thinking going all the way out there in the middle of the night?

When he arrived at the outer wards of the Temple, he practically leapt from the saddle, tying the horse to the crumbling remains of a wall. Then, taking the lantern, he rushed through what remained of the outer archway. The snows had not abated even after the Herald returned four days ago so navigating the ruined walkways was difficult at best, but he managed to find where Mnemyn had waded through the nearly thigh-deep snow.

Sweating and nearly out of breath, Cullen finally made it down the stairs to the ledge that overlooked the crater. Shielding his eyes from the light of the Breach as it flickered wildly across the blanket of snow below, he scanned the crater floor for any sign of her. After a moment, he let out the breath that he’d been holding. She was indeed here, kneeling near the spot where she’d fallen out of the Fade, her head bowed as if in prayer.

As he jumped down into the crater proper, Cullen felt as though he were intruding on a deeply private moment so he tried to remain as quiet as he could. Now only a few yards from where she knelt, he could finally make out what she was saying; she was reciting the _Chant of Transfiguration_. 

_These truths the Maker has revealed to me:_  
_As there is but one world,_  
_One life, one death, there is_  
_But one god, and He is our Maker._  
_They are sinners, who have given their love  
_ _To false gods._

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._  
_Foul and corrupt are they_  
_Who have taken His gift_  
_And turned it against His children._  
_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._  
_They shall find no rest in this world  
_ _Or beyond…_

That she’d been reciting the Transfiguration didn’t entirely confuse him. Mages often were made to recite it by particularly devout Senior Enchanters for using their magic irresponsibly. At both Kinloch and the Gallows, he’d witnessed some templars make their charges recite it as punishment for escaping. Other, crueler templars liked to throw this verse in mages’ faces to remind them they would never be loved by the Maker, or their fellow man, supposedly because being born with magic was a filthy, sinful stain upon one’s soul which could never be atoned for or cleansed.

He scoffed under his breath at the notion. As if anyone could control whether or not they were gifted with magic. The Maker loved all His children regardless of whether or not they could shoot lightning at fools.

As Mnemyn finished the last stanza, she began to cry, her shoulders shaking as she knelt in the snowy darkness. Observing her suffering made his chest tighten with grief. He could not let her endure this alone any longer, he felt he’d die if he did. Standing a little straighter, he cleared his throat to make himself known. Immediately, her head snapped up and she froze, staring into the darkness. He watched as her hand shot out to hover near her staff which lay on the ground beside her.

Cullen felt himself tense, his body preparing to defend himself and dampen her power should she attack. _You can take the templar out of the Order_ , he thought wryly, _but never truly take the Order out of the templar_. Thankfully, Mnemyn made no move to pick up the staff. Instead, she turned to cautiously look over her shoulder to see who had made the noise.

“Cullen?” she said. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with disbelief, and he could see her trembling; whether it was from the cold or her nerves, he couldn’t tell. Immediately, he closed the distance between them and knelt beside her. Quickly but carefully, he sat the lantern down at her side and then pulled his cloak from his shoulders to wrap it around her.

His heart broke for her as he gazed down upon her tear stained face. She looked so vulnerable and so tiny kneeling there alone in the darkness. He placed his hands gingerly on her shoulders to steady her and, in the gentlest tone he could manage, spoke to her. “Herald… what are you doing out here?”

“I—my dreams,” she said. Her admission seemed to make things worse and she hung her head, looking away in shame. “I _can’t_ …sleep. Too terrifying…”

It was as exactly as he had feared. Reaching into his tunic, he dug out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She stared at it for several beats before hesitantly taking it. She stared at it and then looked up at him clearly confused. “Are you…real?”

“Yes. It’s me,” he said. He watched as she resolved to tears and ducked her head, almost as if she didn’t want him to see her this way. “When did you last sleep, my lady?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. He could see new tears streaming down her already dampened cheeks. Was she ashamed he’d seen her cry? As he listened to her pained sobs, he felt a great swelling of emotion rise within him. Cullen suddenly felt as though he wanted nothing more than to make all of her troubles go away, now and forever.

Unable to dismiss his own compassion for her nor his longing to comfort her, he gingerly tugged her toward him and, to his surprise, she shot forward to bury her face in his shoulder. Once there, she wrapped trembling arms about him and clung to him as though he was the only thing grounding her. Cullen froze for a moment, completely shocked by her reaction. It didn’t take him long to gather his wits, however, and he gently wrapped his arms around her, tucked her head under his chin, and let her cry it out.

Some minutes later, when her tears finally subsided and she’d stilled in his arms, Cullen willed up the courage to ask her what was troubling her. “Herald, will you _please_ tell me what is wrong?”

Immediately, he felt her tense up in his arms where she sat quite rigidly for several moments. Finally, when it seemed she would not budge, Cullen dared to give her a gentle squeeze and, in a gentle tone tried to reason with her. “Mnemyn, I only wish to help you. I—I’m worried about you.”

She almost immediately relaxed and, in the silence that followed, Cullen himself began to relax ever so slightly. She’d let him in and, having gone through this himself so long ago, he knew how difficult it could be to do so. He waited patiently as she considered his plea and, after a time, Mnemyn nodded. Though as she tried to speak, hiccupped instead. He looked down at her with a gentle smile and watched as she bashfully ducked her head to rest on his shoulder. 

When her embarrassment faded, Mnemyn spent the next several minutes explaining the awful scenes the Envy demon had shown her: his murder at the demon’s hands, how he had been imprisoned and had professed his hatred for her, as well as the many twisted things it implied it would accomplish should it succeed in replacing her.  
  
“So seeing the things it did to me disturbed you?” _That was a stupid question, of course she was disturbed by it._

She nodded and as she pressed closer to him for comfort and he could feel her trembling once again. He knew it was likely not from the cold and gingerly but firmly encircled her with his arms, hoping the gesture would make her feel safer.

“You are my closest friend, Cullen,” she admitted quietly. “To see you harmed…I couldn’t…”

He had to swallow a surprised gasp at her admission. Mnemyn, meanwhile, made a pained noise against his chest and covered her eyes for a moment. She was trembling worse than before and said absolutely nothing for a time. He realized she seemed to be willing herself not to cry.

“Let it out,” he urged quietly. “You need to cry.”

_I wish someone’d done this for me. If I can even give her even a modicum of comfort maybe… maybe she won’t end up as I have; so broken, bitter and alone._

Like a dam bursting, Mnemyn’s tears came forth in great sobs, her shoulders shaking. Cullen did his best to comfort her through it, offering tender words of encouragement while just simply holding her. She twisted her fingers in the ties of his tunic and ran her thumb across the fine leather to comfort herself. After nearly a dozen or so minutes, it seemed as though she’d about cried herself out.

Even then, neither of them spoke for what seemed like an age and it was so quiet he could hear an occasional tear falling in her lap. Finally, she lifted her head and, as she mopped up her face, spoke again.

“The templars who were corrupted became… _mindless_ and filled with so much rage. They—they didn’t even seem to have any humanity left in them. Y-you could’ve easily been one of them had you not left the Order. Just the thought of you…o-or Rylen turned into one of those things…”

She began to sob again and Cullen, although thunderstruck by her admission, held and soothed her through it. They sat there for quite some time in each other’s arms, with Cullen listening to her breathing while he traced slow, soothing circles across her right shoulder blade. She nestled close to him, murmuring quietly as she dozed for a time.

When she awoke, she mumbled an apology and Cullen shushed her. “You’re exhausted. If my presence helps you sleep then so be it.”

Gently, he tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear and smiled sympathetically as he noticed her nose running. Taking the handkerchief from her, held it to her nose. “Blow.”

After she’d obliged him, she mumbled her thanks tiredly and laid her head on his shoulder again. He felt her relax in his arms and heard her let out a small sigh of relief. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, tugging his cloak around them both as a particularly sharp gust of frigid wind cut their way.

“Your dreams after your encounter with Envy, were they all involving red lyrium? And monsters?”

“Yes. Mostly. Sometimes just what the world would become if they overran Thedas.”

This was far worse than he could have imagined. His fear that she was experiencing the same thing he had after his torture during the Fifth Blight had been correct. His heart ached for her and, in a low and heartfelt tone he expressed his sympathy. “I am sorry you have endured this alone. I should never have asked this of you.”

“No,” she sniffed, shaking her head, “We’ve been over this before, Cullen… we needed help. I wanted to recruit the templars.”

He glanced down at her, a look of uncertainty on his face, but he decided not argue with her further. Finally, he said, “Then I want to—I _will_ help you work through this.”

She blinked, looking at him what he thought could have been confusion or, possibly, fear; which he could not say. Closing her eyes for a moment, she rested her head on his shoulder again. Clearly, she was exhausted. He himself was feeling a bit numb from sitting in the snow, so he decided to broach the subject of going somewhere warm. “Perhaps we should head back to Haven? Some tea might—”

He watched her go rigid suddenly and then begin to pull away from him, terrified. The many, many nights she hadn’t slept were taking their toll on her. Cullen knew how she felt—all too well in fact. Lack of sleep was clouding her judgment and amplifying her fears making sleep impossible. It was a self-perpetuating system that would lead to ruin if he didn’t intervene now. 

Over his shoulder he heard a voice. “She is hurting. Hurting from what Envy made her see. I—I tried to help get the hurt out but she won’t let me.”  
  
Cullen at once glanced to make sure Mnemyn was fine; she was still sitting near at hand, her knees drawn to her chest with her forehead resting on her knees as she cried. He wrenched the clasp of his cloak free and wrapped it around her shoulders; she needed it more than he did and it’d only get in his way. She seemed more or less stable for the time being, so he pushed to his feet and swung around to glare at the demon, his jaw set and clenched. “ _You_.”

“I haven’t hurt her, I swear. There’s a ball of wrong stuck inside, hurting her. Afraid you’ll turn red. That you’ll stop caring and your light will go out.”

“And you have nothing to do with how—”

“She’s hurting like you do when you think of Uldred.”

Cullen drew in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide. The only way it could have known that was if it had been in rifling through his thoughts. Infuriated at the intrusion, his hand fell to the pommel of his sword with intent. In a flash, it was balanced in his hand, flashing in the dim, flickering light of the Breach.

Before he could act, however, Mnemyn was suddenly at his side and he watched as she wrapped her arms around his sword arm to prevent him from taking the swing. When she spoke, pleading with him, her voice positively cracked with emotion. “Cullen, he’s telling the truth. He hasn’t hurt me; he’s only tried to help. _Please don’t harm him._ ”  
  
Much like the last time someone drew a sword on him, Cole seemed entirely unaware he was in danger. He stood looking at Cullen with his wide, pale blue eyes, completely unmoving. “Shining, golden lion, strong and steady, warm and kind. Only you can help her hurt.”

And, without another word, Cole vanished leaving both he and Mnemyn to stare at the vacant spot where he’d stood. She numbly let go of his arm, shuffling back a pace to pull his cloak tightly around her while she stared at the snow at his feet. In this moment, watching the woman he loved standing there, worry, fear and exhaustion hanging over her like a shroud, Cullen decided the demon— _spirit_ —had been right.

Sheathing his sword, Cullen turned to offered his hand to her. A simple gesture, sure, but one that held so much meaning for them both – for her, comfort and help and for him, redemption and love. He held his breath and thought, _Maker I beseech you. Please let this work._

Mnemyn swallowed hard and stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before closing her eyes. She was terrified.

 _I will never stop trying to help you_ _and I will **never** stop loving you_. “I apologize for not trusting Cole. He was right.”

Thankfully, Mnemyn calmed slightly. She opened her eyes and nodded, finally slipping her hand into his own. Gingerly, Cullen tugged her closer and tilted her chin up so he could look deep into her eyes. “Please let me help you as you’ve helped me so many times.”

“I—didn’t realize I—”

“I shall explain someday. Right now, you need help. Will you let me?”

She seemed to become wildly uncertain, shifting from one foot to the other while refusing to meet his gaze.

Thinking quickly, he realized that perhaps if he offered something familiar, something he knew brought her comfort, she might let him help her. Drawing on their shared backgrounds as templar and mage, he spoke again in a soothing voice. “Perhaps you’d feel safer if someone sat with you while you slept? I can… stand vigil with you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, I—I think that would be wise,” she admitted after a long pause.

He gave her a few more moments to collect herself and, when he sensed she was ready, he suggested they take their leave. Fetching the lantern, he turned toward the path and offered his hand to her.

As she slipped her delicate hand into his own, his pulse jumped. And, as she came to stand beside him, he was struck by how ethereally beautiful she was standing beneath the wild, flickering magic of the Breach. Never again would someone harm her, he decided, not if he had anything to do with it.

They traversed the long and tricky path back to where he’d left the horse in silence. When they arrived, she gave him his cloak back and, although he initially balked, she reminded him how cold the wind would be on horseback. Somewhat grudgingly he accepted it, pulling it on before turning to help her into the saddle. A moment later, he swung up behind her. As soon as he’d settled himself, he immediately wondered if this had truly been a good idea. He had no idea where to put his hands.

Even for as tired as she was, she sensed his distress and gently took his hand to place it on the flat of her stomach. He mumbled a deeply embarrassed thank you, took the reins, and set the horse off in a trot. After a few moments, Mnemyn spoke up; this time she sounded much more herself than she had in days. “Thank you for listening to me, Cullen.”

“You needed someone to talk to,” he said, “I’m glad I—was able to, ah, be of help. To you.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the ride and, after a few moments, he felt her go limp against his shoulder. She’d fallen asleep. _Thank the Maker_.

A half hour later, they returned to the horse paddock and, as he brought the horse to a stop, Cullen reluctantly woke the sleeping woman in his arms. After he’d turned the horse over to one of the sentries, they slipped—literally—along the road through the sleeping village. Mnemyn slipped twice and both times Cullen caught and steadied her.

As they neared the crest of the hill, he slipped and she returned the favor, catching him about the waist but, because he was so much bigger than she, Mnemyn lost her balance and they nearly both fell. Laughing as they clung to one another, they scrambled into some semblance of uprightness before continuing along the path as quickly as they dared.

Finally, they reached her doorstep and she began digging through her many pockets for the key. He watched as large, fluffy snowflakes gathered in her raven hair creating an interesting, if not beautiful, contrast. So enraptured by her beauty was he that he didn’t notice when she’d turned around to look up at him. Her voice dragged him back to the present when she made a rather cryptic comment.

“So _that’s_ what he meant,” she said. Cullen gave her a confused look and was about to inquire what she meant when Mnemyn chuckled and reached up to ruffle the snow from his now mostly wet hair. He groaned inwardly realizing immediately what she was so enraptured by. His damnable, unruly curls.

“Ah yes, Varric’s… _adorable_ nickname,” he said somewhat acidly.

“I like them,” she said.

“That’s because you don’t have to live with them.”

She gave him a lopsided grin and chuckled merrily, albeit tiredly, at his side and her laughter felt like a balm for his soul. That she was laughing was a good sign. She turned toward the door once again, pausing as she shyly told him she’d let him know when she was decent.

“Andraste preserve me,” he mumbled as she disappeared behind the door; it hadn’t occurred to him she’d need to change and realizing she was undressing not but a few meters from him set his heart racing and his palms sweating. Try as he might, that one dissonant, lecherous piece of himself that was utterly mad for her was already supplying tantalizing images of her soft curves and supple expanses of naked flesh bared just for him. Hoping to dampen the extremely inappropriate thoughts, Cullen huffed out a breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the cold.  _If she had any idea what was going through my head right now, she’d never speak to me again._

Several minutes later, her voice roused him from his mental jousting and he cautiously stepped inside. She was already in her bed, clothed in her dressing gown with the covers drawn up to her midsection. He had to deliberately keep his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above her shoulder for fear she’d feel he was ogling her.

She’d already pulled over a chair next to her bedside and on it, sat a towel. “I thought you might want to dry off.”

“Thank you,” he said. He stripped off his cloak, scarf and gloves, placing the latter on the mantle then hanging the former articles beside hers near the fire. He stood soaking up the heat for a moment, rubbing the cold from his hands before turning to take the towel and his seat. She smiled tiredly as she watched him towel the moisture from his hair, seeming to enjoy something so simple and mundane. He supposed it might be comforting, especially after the last four weeks.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said softly as she settled down in her bed.

He smiled gently as she closed her eyes and murmured, “Sleep well, my lady.”


	18. Of Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Inquisition ramps up for the second - and hopefully final - Breach closure, Cullen continues to help Mnemyn recover from her ordeal at Therinfal. As a result, they begin to grow even closer and, much to the Commander's chagrin, thoughts of what may come (pun intended!) also increase in frequency and intensity. Despite his frustrations, Cullen is able to finally make a firm decision on where he wants to see their relationship go in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, lemon, citrus and a healthy dose of delicious sexual tension in this chapter. Mnemyn's finally driven Cullen to distraction. It'll only be a matter of time now... ;D
> 
> Small update on art: Chapter 1 will receive a new drawing by the end of the week. New art for the upcoming Winter Palace sequence is also in the works - some of it's even what I'd call smokin' hoooot. ;) Stay tuned for a glut of art coming soon!
> 
> Second small update: this chapter's been updated to add a little bit more to the book scene. Someone pointed out it ended kind of abruptly and I went back to re-read it. I agree, of course, so I expanded it. That said, the chapter's now over 6k, so I've broken it into two chapters. Sorry for any confusion!

_Firstfall 12, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen awoke to the sound of birdsong and sunlight shining on his face. At first, he didn’t remember where he was but as his eyes finally began to focus and the familiar, warm surroundings of Mnemyn’s cottage swam into view, he relaxed.

With a heavy sigh, he sat forward and rubbed his stiff neck for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted to go straight to the yard or grab a cup of tea after dressing for the day. Squinting, he glanced toward the window with mild annoyance at the brightness of the sun and then nearly swore when he realized it was well after dawn. He had not meant to stay all night. Furthermore, he had never been late to the training yard, not even during his worst bouts of lyrium withdrawal; what would his soldiers think? And Rylen. Maker’s breath. He’d never hear the end of it.

He rose and quietly crossed to Mnemyn’s desk where he hunted up a sheaf of parchment and a quill and hastily scratched a short note for her. After shrugging into his cold weather cloak, gloves and scarf, he snatched it up and laid it in the chair for her to find when she awoke. As he turned to make for the door, he caught sight of her illuminated by the morning sun. 

She was tangled in her bedclothes with one arm laid across her midsection while the other hung slightly over the side of her feather mattress. Her raven hair, which she’d let down the night before, had spilled across her pillow and her petal pink lips were slightly parted. Cullen inhaled slowly as he stared at her, imagining how soft and supple those lips would feel pressed against his own. He sighed contentedly to himself, smiling as he admired just how incredibly beautiful and peaceful she looked.

And then, his traitor eyes trailed lower.

Cullen sucked in a sharp breath. Her dressing gown had come slightly untied, revealing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. He stood stunned for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest and a sweat breaking across his brow.  _Maker have mercy!_  Unbidden, his thoughts quickly went  _elsewhere,_ hissex starved brain supplying tantalizing images of what his eyes could not see; her full breasts, narrow waist and slender thighs. He huffed out a quiet sigh of frustration as the beginning of arousal fluttered deep in the pit of his stomach.

For the briefest of moments, he imagined what it might be like to curl up beside her and wake her by trailing heated kisses along her neck and shoulder then nuzzling the stubble of his jaw against the crook of her neck until she squirmed against him, whining with delight. Or how she might tremble as slipped his hands beneath her dressing gown to cup her breasts and then moan throatily as he slowly dragged his thumbs over her nipples until both pebbled beneath his touch.

He could almost imagine she’d gasp in delight when he dropped one hand to slowly slide it down her torso across the whisper soft skin of her belly to her thigh, his sword callused fingers pausing only long enough to give her a moment of delicious anticipation before reaching to delve into her smalls where he’d find her short curls sopping wet. And how she might writhe as he parted her slick folds to stroke her clit before curling one, then two fingers inside the molten heat of her vagina. Stroking until he sent her keening over the edge of pleasure, trapping his hand as she rode out her orgasm, his name spilling from her lips in a reverent moan. 

Cullen was in trouble and he knew it. Dragging in a jagged breath, he pulled his cloak firmly closed to hide the now undeniable jut of his cock pressing against his trousers and cast a reluctant glance toward the door. _Andraste’s flaming kicker weasels! Control yourself! Must get out of here._  Cullen shook himself, executed a smart about face, and rushed outside.

 _Have I lost my damned mind?,_ he thought as he flew into the courtyard and wheeled to close the door quietly so as not to disturb Mnemyn’s slumber. He stood there a moment, his hands braced on the door and jam as he tried to get his breathing and, more importantly, his body under control. Suddenly, he heard someone stop a yard or so behind him clear their throat. He deflated slightly, his shoulders drooping, and waited for the questions to begin flying.

“Well, _good morning_ , Commander,” came Leliana’s extremely amused voice over his shoulder.

 _Fuck_.

“This—this is not as it appears, Leliana,” he said, wheeling around to face her. He could feel his cheeks burning with blush and cursed silently to himself that he’d been unable to keep the nervous titter out of his voice when he’d spoken. He looked up to meet the former bard’s amused gaze and felt his blush deepen, reaching all the way up to his ears as she arched a brow at him.

“No?” she said. A gentle smile played at the corners of her lips as she canted her head to the side affecting a perfectly coy look. When his embarrassment melted into annoyance, he watched as that smile turned to a wry smirk. “Though who am I to judge, hm?”

Cullen harrumphed, shot her an exasperated look and then promptly marched off toward the training yard in a huff, Leliana’s deeply amused chuckle trailing in his wake. He’d change into his armor later. When Leliana wasn’t waiting to ambush him.

Josephine appeared at her side a moment later, yawning. “Was that the Commander you were teasing just now? If you keep that up, he’ll never bed her, you know.”

Leliana snorted. “Somehow I doubt that, Josie. At this juncture, I believe it’s an inevitable eventuality.”

“Yes, and it is this—extended eventuality that’s been positively agonizing to watch. Neither of them is willing make the first move.”

“They both do seem equally…frustrated, no?” Leliana said.

“Frustrated is not the word I’d have chosen. Perhaps _severely_ sexually repressed,” Josephine said wryly.

Leliana seemed to consider something for a moment. “I do not recall uncovering any intelligence that would suggest Her Worship’s ever had a lover. Perhaps inexperience in this arena is complicating things?”

“She’s nearly thirty is she not? I suppose it’s possible…”

“It would be best if we knew for sure,” Leliana said.

“And what of the Commander?” Josephine said.

“There was a young woman—a miller’s daughter, I believe—who lived not far from the Ferelden Circle tower. From what I understand she was…more experienced than he. They drifted apart some time before he met Ellendra Amell. My sources have led me to believe she was killed during the Blight.”

“Such a tragedy,” Josephine said, “He has had far too much suffering in his life.”  
  
“Indeed,” Leliana said, “Which is why we must redouble our efforts, no?”

“You’ll get no argument from me, Leliana,” Josephine said, “I shall broach the subject with Her Worship and report my findings later.”

“I look forward to hearing your report,” Leliana said. Josephine rolled her eyes, laughing at the Nightingale’s glib remark.

“You are positively _awful_ , Leliana,” she said.

“Yes, but you would not have me any other way, would you, Josie?” 

* * *

 

 “Good morning, Commander!” Rylen said. Cullen harrumphed when he saw him smirking. “Oof. Rough morning?”

“Rough night. I shall explain later. My morning was just fine, however, until I ran into Leliana,” he said.

“She means well,” Rylen said.

“ _She_ means well, _you_ mean well, _Varric_ means well, my _blighted_ sister means well… Maker’s breath! Half of bloody Thedas is involved in my love life. Andraste’s tits, it’d be nice if the lot of you would keep your noses where they belonged!”  
  
For his part, Rylen tried his best to hide his laugh with a strategic cough into his gloved hand which sent a hefty plume of steam into the frigid morning air. “Aye, well, I shall keep that in mind th’ next time you’re in the middle of deciding to cry off courting Her Worship.”

Cullen shot him a sharp look and grumbled under his breath, which provoked yet another hearty laugh from Rylen. Throwing up his hands, he stalked off to take out his frustrations on the new recruits.

“Poor lads,” Rylen said as he watched him go.

* * *

 

Mnemyn awoke sometime later to find Cullen gone, a note in his place. She frowned, realizing he was likely out in the yard already. With a sigh, she immediately cast a rueful glance toward the door, a distinct sense of longing tugging at her heart. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and took his note in her hands. She smiled at his very distinctive script and read:

  
_Mnemyn,_

_I hope you slept well, you looked incredibly peaceful when I left. I must apologize for leaving before you awoke, but with your operation to close the Breach eminent, there is a great many things which require my attention. I look forward to seeing you at our morning meeting._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

 

Mnemyn smiled and hugged the letter to her chest as her heart did cartwheels in her chest. After a moment, she stood and read his note again, sighing very contentedly. Grinning wider still, she nearly skipped to her bookshelf and tucked the note away in a copy of _Tale of the Champion_ for safekeeping.

* * *

Cullen wasn’t wrong in saying he had a great many things to attend to. With the second attempt to close the Breach looming just days away – assuming Josephine could persuade Orzammar to cooperate – he was besieged by a steady stream of aides, messengers, and templars bearing chits, requests for information and all manner of reports for him to review. So busy was he that he did not see Mnemyn for the rest of the morning. He was mildly thankful for the reprieve; he was still extremely flustered by what he’d almost seen earlier. And, after his subsequent and extremely frustrating encounter with Leliana, he worried rumors might already be flying within the inner circle.

Sometime after breakfast, Leliana and Cassandra came to grill him thoroughly about the events of the prior evening; they’d already cajoled some information out of the Herald and now wanted his report. He of course gave them a highly edited version of what transpired, leaving out his gift and, of course, some of the more delicate details which pertained to their burgeoning relationship.  
  
Cassandra, who’d remained quietly reserved while he’d spoken, was now sharply questioning whether or not his efforts were truly helping the Herald’s situation. “And it is your assessment this is truly working?”

“Yes. Even with the short interruption of the nightmare she slept very soundly.”

“She has looked much more rested these last two mornings, Cassandra,” Leliana said.

“Yes, I suppose she has,” Cassandra said. Although there was slight hesitance in her voice, she seemed to consider something briefly and then nodded as if she’d settled on a decision. “And you would be willing to continue to stand vigil with her until such a time she feels safe again, Commander?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“Are you sure? I do not want this to interfere with you other duties. We can find another templar among those in camp whom I am sure would be more than willing—”

“ _No_ ,” Cullen insisted hastily, cutting her off mid-sentence. Judging by the amused look on Leliana’s face, perhaps he’d protested perhaps a bit too quickly. Cassandra gave him an arched look and was clearly about to question why he was so insistent. Thinking quickly, he continued hoping his argument would sound believable.

“As both Leliana and Josephine noted the other evening, she respects and trusts me. If we are to give her the best chance for overcoming these nightmares, her comfort is key,” he said.

“Very well,” Cassandra said. Her reply rang of satisfaction and when she nodded curtly to him, it was very clear the Seeker considered the matter closed.

Leliana, he knew, seemed to suspect something more was going on between them but he did not indulge her. Thankfully, she didn’t question him further as to his intentions, he guessed because Cassandra was present. He had to admit, aside from supporting Mnemyn during this trying time he wasn’t even sure what his intentions were. 

The voice in the back of his head quickly reminded him of the _many_ carnal pleasures they could enjoy if he’d just muster up the courage to seduce her. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. Not only would that be inappropriate but it was ill timed. Though he didn’t completely discard the idea. He was still a man after all and she had bewitched him utterly. Perhaps once the Breach was closed, they could pursue a more…intimate relationship.

Needless to say, Cullen remained flustered for the rest of the day and was so bothered by these thoughts, he took a freezing bath before heading to mess tent for supper.

He quickly realized attending mess with Mnemyn may have been a mistake when he found himself sneaking glances at her from across the table like a shy, awkward templar-recruit. Occasionally, their eyes met and they’d exchange smiles. At one point, she smiled prettily at him as she asked him to pass the bread.  He did as she’d asked and as she took the basket from him, her fingers brushed his. He nearly started when he felt his pulse jump. _Maker, preserve me!_ he thought, suddenly finding his stew incredibly interesting.

He knew Leliana had been watching them with veiled interest, her face schooled into a mask of indifference. Varric, too, had been watching them, though he was more obvious about his amusement.

“So, Curly,” he said, “I was telling Bull how you helped the Herald choose her last armor design…”  
  
Cullen froze, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. Before he could answer, Vivienne chimed in, “I must say, Commander, the Herald is _quite_ fetching in that attire. The way it fits her is positively _astounding_.”

He glanced up to see Mnemyn staring into her stew, her cheeks a deep shade of crimson. Before he could do or say anything to alleviate her embarrassment, he could have sworn he heard Iron Bull mumble a ribald comment – something about him and Mnemyn’s pants – to Sera. This, of course, set her immediately snorting with laughter. As Cullen turned to glare at the Qunari, he heard Cassandra, who sat across from him, make an extremely irritated noise; she’d clearly heard the comment as well.

Just as he was about to rebuke Bull for his ill-mannered attempt at humor, Cassandra spoke.

“After the Breach is closed, the Herald and I have decided to make our final push into the Hinterlands,” she said. Immediately, she flicked her gaze to Iron Bull, fixing him with a hard look. “Will the Chargers stand ready to assist in clearing the Bandit Stronghold in the South?”

Bull chuckled wryly and, with a wide grin, turned to give Cullen a very pointed look. “Yes, of course Seeker. It’ll be good to get some _action_. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?” 

Cullen continued to glare daggers at the Qunari for the next few minutes until Varric leaned in to ask him how the archer’s training fared. He knew Varric was only trying to distract him in the hopes he’d calm down; that he’d used a topic of conversation Cullen would enjoy was clever at best. He looked up to see Varric regarding him with a truly interested expression, clearly waiting for his answer. Surprised, he answered him and they carried on pleasant conversation until dinner adjourned.

As the majority of the table’s occupants filed out of the mess tent, Cullen stood waiting for Mnemyn near the tent flaps. She’d stopped to discuss something with Josephine – from what little he could hear, it sounded like some matter regarding her family. Josephine bid the Herald a pleasant good evening and, when the ambassador had retreated toward the Chantry, and presumably her office, he approached Mnemyn.

“Good evening, Commander,” she said. She smiled brightly at him as she drew to a stop in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back as she semi-swayed from foot to foot for a moment. It was a cute gesture, certainly, and made him think of the many girls who’d flirted with him over the years. Though none had been nearly as lovely as the woman who stood in front of him now. If only they’d met before all this. _How have I managed to live without her in my life?_ he wondered.

“And a fine evening it is, my lady,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling more like yourself.”

“You’re not the only one,” she teased. “So what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Commander? Perhaps you’re up for a walk? I believe there was a conversation you and I were meaning to have?”

“Sadly, I must decline—with the Breach closure looming I…”

“Say no more,” she said. Twining her arm with his, they walked slowly toward the Chantry. “We’ll have plenty of time for that afterwards, I suppose.”

“Yes, well,” he said. His cheeks were burning but still he managed to smile, a wave of relief washing over him as she appeared no worse for wear. “Cassandra and I need to work out the finer details of your mission with the senior templars. When you are ready to retire, send a runner for me, I will be in the war room.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgement and smiled genially. “Of course, Commander. See you later.”  



	19. ...and Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Previously part of Chapter 18)  
> Cullen finally gives Mnemyn the gift he'd purchased for her. He also opens the package Mia sent to find a surprise of his own. Finally, the Herald experiences another nightmare and Cullen is there to help her through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a new chapter; sorry for the confusion. I lengthened the book scene and the draft was 6,200 words so I split it roughly in two. Enjoy the new bit!

_Firstfall 12, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen hadn’t known how long he had been working when he heard someone clear their throat from the doorway to announce their presence. He looked up to see Mnemyn standing in the war room door wrapped in a heavy cloak, a book under one arm, and a candelabrum in her other hand.  Clearly, it was late as the candles in the Chantry behind her were very dim. He blinked and said, “My lady, I’m sorry… I hope I haven’t kept you waiting overlong.”

She smiled gently and shook her head. “I didn’t wish to disturb you, Cullen. You’ve been so busy….”

“I, uhm,” he said. Suddenly at a loss for words at the sound of her calling him by his first name, Cullen felt his cheeks flushing and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “This can wait until tomorrow.”

He quickly retrieved his cold weather gear, hastily dressing so as not to keep her waiting. He felt her eyes on him the entire time and looked up to see her gazing at him thoughtfully. He arched a brow at her, smiling. “Something on your mind?”

“I owe you an apology.”  
  
“For?”  
  
“The other day when Cole appeared.”  
  
“Mnemyn—”

“Please, Cullen,” she said, “I need to do this….”

Reluctantly, he gestured for her to continue. “As you wish.”

“You were very concerned for me—and rightly so considering what happened after—but I was very cruel to you. That was unworthy of me and…I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You weren’t yourself,” he said. When she gave him a mildly reproachful look, he smiled and gently placed a hand on her lower back to usher her out of the war room. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Now, I believe you wished to go to bed?”

She smiled crookedly at him for a moment, and as she twined her arm around his own she answered him, her voice taking on a mildly sultry tone. “Oh, _yes._ ”

Cullen’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline at her mild innuendo and he found himself suddenly both simultaneously speechless and excited by the prospect. Mentally chiding himself for his momentary impropriety, he refocused himself on the many and varied tasks he had to accomplish the following day as a distraction. Mnemyn hummed in the silence that followed, seeming more than content to just be in his company. After several moments, however, she was reminded of something and spoke again.

“Did Rylen give you the package Mia sent for you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I…”  
  
“Again, you weren’t feeling well,” he said. “Although, now that I think of it, I haven’t even opened it yet. If it’ll make you feel better, I can retrieve it so you may still make good on your promise.”

She chuckled and playfully bumped her shoulder against his arm to signal her delight. “How chivalrous of you.”

“I live to serve.”

Mnemyn let out a low whistle but said nothing. When he glanced in her direction, he could see her cheeks were full of color. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” she said. Although she was smiling coyly, her voice held a slightly husky tone. What had she been thinking just now? The memory of the _Carmenum di Amatus_ under her bed suddenly sprung to mind and Cullen nearly choked.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I suppose my throat’s a bit dry. From…presiding over all those notes for hours in the war room.”

“Brooding is thirsty work,” she said.

“I wasn’t brooding,” he insisted.

“It certainly looked like brooding when I happened upon you.”

He slanted her a mildly pointed look which made her smile. His heart filled with joy seeing how it genuinely reflected in her eyes; she was beginning to return to herself. Cullen let out a breath, suddenly feeling as though a great weight had lifted from his heart. They’d reached the doorstep of her cottage and he hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “While you ready yourself for bed, I shall retrieve Mia’s package.”

She nodded and slipped through the door of her own cabin, pausing to glance over her shoulder at him shyly. Cullen smiled wider still.  
  
He swept through the door of his own cabin a moment later, excitement buzzing through him.

“If it isn’t my illustrious roommate,” Rylen remarked with a grin. “Off to stand vigil?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. He quickly turned to his desk and wrenched open the bottom most drawer where he retrieved both Mia’s package and the one he’d purchased for Mnemyn.

“Oh, ye’re givin’ her the book are ye?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. He puffed up his cheeks and then blew out all the air. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” Rylen said gleefully. Then, waggling his eyebrows, the gregarious Starkhavener teased him mischievously. “If you’re particularly fortunate, perhaps her Ladyship will give ye a wee kiss on the cheek.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Good night, Rylen.”

He turned and swept back out the door, Rylen’s amused chuckling following him into the courtyard. He stood there for a moment to collect himself, desperately trying to conquer any lingering doubts as well as tamp down a sudden case of butterflies which had just developed in his stomach. Finally, he decided there was no time like the present, drew in a deep breath and marched himself over to her door.

 _I really hope she likes this gift_ , he thought as he rapped at the door and, as he waited for her answer, tucked the parcel under his arm beneath his cloak.

“Come in.”

Stepping inside, he saw she was already in bed with the covers up to her midsection just as she’d been the night before. This time, however, she had a book in her lap and, to his surprise, he noticed two steaming mugs of tea on her bedside table. Noting his curious look, she smiled and inclined her head slightly toward the drinks. “You did say your throat was rather dry, not from brooding of course, so I thought some tea was in order.”

He laughed at her playful remark as he divested himself of his cold weather gear, stowing it beside hers all the while taking take great care to ensure she didn’t see the second package just yet.

With a slight flourish, which allowed him to hide his own gift behind his back, he presented Mia’s package to her and slipped into his usual seat at her bedside. And, while she was occupied, he made sure his gift was securely propped up between him and his chair back.

“Well then,” she said, “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I am pleased to inform you that I’ve brought a package for you all the way from South Reach. From your sister, Mia.”  
  
Bowing her head with a grin, she offered him the package in outstretched hands. He smiled at her adorable gesture and decided he’d oblige her by playing along.

“Maker, how kind of you,” he said. “Remind me to thoroughly chide my sister for telling you my middle name.”

Mnemyn laughed and gestured for him to open it. “I shan’t be doing that. It’s adorable.”

Cullen groaned and tore into the brown paper wrapping. Inside he found a well-worn folding chessboard and a hunter green tunic. He smiled, regarding it with slightly watery eyes. “She still had it.”

“Is that…your chessboard from when you were a boy?”

“Yes. I’d thought they’d lost it when they fled the darkspawn.”

Noting she looked rather interested in it, he offered it to her with a smile. She grinned and, sitting her book aside, she took it in her hands and began to inspect it. Sitting it gingerly on her lap, she gently ran her fingers over the weathered wood, smiling wistfully—almost reverently— as though it was the most precious thing she’d ever handled. Suddenly, she looked up, an air of giddiness in her expression, and smiled. “May I?”

“Of course.”

For a moment, he marveled over how enraptured she was before turning his attention to the tunic which still sat in the wrapping. There was something vaguely familiar about it though Cullen couldn’t quite recall where he’d seen it before. It smelled heavily of cedar and, upon closer inspection, looked as though it were cut in a slightly older fashion. Curiosity got the better of him now, and he began to gently unfold it. Immediately, he had to swallow a gasp.

Wrapped inside it was a small wooden ring box and a letter. _Maker take her, she’s sent me mother’s ring. And this must be the tunic my father wore when they married. Damn it, Mia._

As discreetly as possible, Cullen carefully refolded the tunic and returned it to the paper. When he looked up, Mnemyn was gleefully inspecting the chess pieces one by one. Sensing his gaze upon her, she beamed a smile at him and held up one of the pieces, her eyes dancing with delight.  
  
“The rooks are Malbari war hounds! How adorable!”

Cullen laughed softly, shaking his head in mild disagreement. “War hounds are not adorable. They’re bred for striking fear into the hearts one’s enemies and crippling infantry on the field of battle.”  
  
She held up the piece to her cheek and smiled at him, making the cutest face he’d ever seen her make. “Adoooorable.”

Cullen found himself laughing for the second time in as many minutes as he continued to watch her examine the chess set with great amusement. It occurred to him that, somehow, he felt a great deal younger than he had in ages. Almost as though someone had lifted a great weight from his shoulders.

As he reached for his mug of tea, his eyes settled on the book the mugs sat upon. “You’re reading Brother Genitivi’s _History of the Templar Order in Thedas_?”

“Yes, I borrowed it from Leliana,” she said. “It occurred to me that despite having spent so many years of my life under the ever watchful eye of templars, I know very little about your Order.”

“ _Former_ Order,” he corrected her mildly. “You could just ask, you know.”

“You’ve been so busy, I didn’t want to trouble you,” she said.

“Nonsense,” he said, “I always have time to speak with you.”

“Very well,” she conceded. She smiled and gave him an almost predatory look, and, when she spoke again, her voice dropped to a sultry tone that sent shivers down his spine. “I look forward to _grilling_ you _thoroughly_ once we’ve closed the Breach.”

_Sweet Maker, did she just imply she wanted to sleep with me?_

“Yes…well….” _Maker, did it get warmer in here?_ His cheeks burning with mild embarrassment, Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck. Deciding now would be a good time to change the subject he reached to pick up the gift he’d hidden at his feet.

“Speaking of good reading material…I took the liberty of picking something up that I thought you’d enjoy. To show you how thankful I am for the medicinal tea you gifted me.”

“Oh, Cullen, you shouldn’t have.” She shyly gushed, her cheeks flushing pink as she accepted the package. She sat it at her side and gently closed his chessboard, handing it back to him. Then, with a bright smile, she pulled the gift into her lap and began to carefully unwrap it. He smiled as he watched her; she looked like a child on Satinalia morn.

“Oh, it’s a book… _oh!_ ” she said, her eyes going wide as she removed the wrapping to see _In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice: A collection of Grey Warden Tales, Lore and Myth, Written by Alexia Sofia Filomena Kalogera Pentaghast_. “Cullen this is—that is to say…I don’t what to— _Maker_ , I’m speechless! Thank-you-so-much! I love it!”

Cullen smiled broadly, incredibly pleased she liked his choice of gift. She was positively aglow with joy and, in that one perfect moment, he felt lighter than air. “You’re most welcome.”

She grinned wider still seeing his own smile and then dropped her gaze to her lap and the book. She ran her fingers over the embossed leather cover smiling wistfully before flipping open the cover. Her hand flew to her mouth upon finding the note he’d scrawled for her in his distinctive script.  
  


_To my dearest Mnemyn,_  
  
_I hope you find this book full of incredibly dashing swordplay, heroic feats of fancy, griffons, and, of course Grey Wardens. Who knows? There may even be cheese…_  
  
_Yours,_  
_Always,_  
  
_Cullen_

She giggled into her hand, running the fingers of her free hand across the small drawing he’d made of a wheel of cheese then gently sat the book aside. When she looked up, he could see her eyes were filled with tears. “Mnemyn are you—I didn’t make you cry did I?”

She shook her head and scrambled out of bed, moving to throw her arms around his neck to hug him. A moment later came her muffled reply, “Not tears of sadness, silly templar. _Joy._ No one’s ever given me a book that wasn’t about magic. Thank you.”

She pulled back just far enough to stare longingly into his eyes, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “I shall treasure it always.”

And, before he could respond, she leaned in to press a tender, chaste kiss to his cheek – lingering slightly longer than one would for a cherished friend, he noted – before retreating back to her bed, her face positively aflame with blush.

“Yes, well…” he said. Clearing his throat, he reached back to rub the back of his neck, ducking his head slightly hoping to hide his blush behind his arm. “I’m pleased you like it.”

She was giving him a lopsided grin now, regarding him with hooded eyes and Cullen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a tingle of delight prickling across his skin. Maker, no one’s ever looked at me the way she looks at me. He watched as she covered a yawn with her hand and settled back, pulling the covers up to her chin as she continued to smile sleepily at him. “I do…”

“Goodnight, Mnemyn,” he said, “pleasant dreams.”

 

* * *

  
In the early hours of the morning, he was awoken by her tossing rather fitfully in her sleep. Instantly, he went from half asleep to fully awake. Moving to sit on the edge of her bed, he began to speak to her in a soothing tone hoping that by hearing his voice, she might calm down. No sooner than he’d settled down beside her, she began to mutter very agitatedly. “Maker no, n-no! Leliana please _don’t_ …you must s-stop! I beg you, _don’t hurt him_ … Cullen! _NO!_ ”

“Mnemyn,” he said. When she didn’t respond and, instead let out a choked sob in anguish, he reached to take her by the shoulders and gently shook her. “ _Mnemyn_ , wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she started, staring at him in surprise. For a moment, she looked frightened and began to backpedal, but, as her eyes swam into focus, she recognized him and she let out a sigh of relief. Gingerly, he pulled her into his arms while she collected herself and he could actually feel her heart pounding. To soothe her, he murmured gentle words of encouragement and began to rub soothing circles with the palm of one calloused hand in the small of her back. She seemed to melt against him and he felt her smile against his shoulder.

She yawned and seemed to be falling asleep again, nestling closer for warmth or comfort which he couldn’t decide but didn’t quite care. She was safe and warm and, most importantly, in his arms. Her voice heavy with sleep, she murmured her concern against his shoulder. “Cullen… I’m so sorry—I disturbed you, didn’t I?”

Cullen smiled into her hair, completely unsurprised but none the less appreciative of her humbleness. Even in the face of her own distress, she was more concerned with his comfort and wellbeing than her own. “I’m fine. Are you all right?”

She nodded in response and pulled back to look into his eyes. “Thank you for being here… with me.”

 _I will always be here for you._ “You’re most welcome.”

Gently, he swept a few stray hairs behind her ear and was surprised when she rested her cheek in his palm. He drew in a deep breath and was about to pull his hand away when her own came up to rest over his, giving him a gentle squeeze. She made a sound of deep contentment and smiled sleepily up at him.

Cullen reluctantly eased her back against her pillow and did not give into her adorable murmured protest. He watched as she settled in, making the cutest little noises of contentment as she began to drift back to sleep. Cullen couldn’t help but imagine them together, he reading some book on military history with her snuggled up beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder as she made those same noises of contentment. _Someday, when this is all over._  
  
She was humming to herself and reached up to trail her fingers gently along his jaw, smiling. “My gentle knight in shining armor.”

Surprise and elation set his skin tingling at her sleepy admission, and, as he sat there gazing upon her with wonder, a wave of warmth and peacefulness settled over him. When he was certain she was asleep, he whispered, “Sleep well, my love.”

 _No one’s ever made me feel this way. Is it even normal to desire to be with someone so badly?_ , he wondered. After a moment to consider he decided he didn’t care. She was so unlike any woman he’d ever met before; so full of joy, compassion and life that just being near her, he felt like more himself than he had in over a decade.

He sat for a time on the edge of her bed, watching her for any sign of distress as well as admiring how peaceful she now looked. Once he was satisfied she was sleeping serenely, he reluctantly withdrew to his chair and settled back into his seat. As he sat there, alone, he was struck by the feeling of loss now that he’d left her bedside.

He regarded her with a thoughtful look as he sat in the darkness listening to her breathing evenly. Soon, he came to the realization that not only had Mnemyn utterly and completely stolen his heart, but, through her kind concern for and gentle patience with him, she was beginning to heal the scars left by Uldred so long ago. He sat thunderstruck for some moments, his skin tingling and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Truly, he’d never considered it was even possible to recover from his ordeal at the Ferelden circle tower.

With this realization, he felt a great swelling of joy rise within him—this one larger than the last. And it was in that moment, Cullen decided that, if she’d have him, he wanted more than anything to spend the rest of his life devoting himself to protecting, loving, and cherishing this wonderful creature until the Maker called him to His side.


	20. A cause for celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald successfully closes the breach and the Inquisition celebrates. She and Cullen attempt to have a discussion about their budding relationship when their world is turned upside down. In the chaos that ensues, they gain a new ally from a far off land.
> 
> ***If graphic violence is one of your squicks, this is not the chapter for you.***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite a bit different than what occurred in the game. I never particularly cared for the "you must chose a faction" bit. And I say this because, as a supervillain, it didn't make much sense to me that Corypheus would only have one lieutenant. Also there's the fact that throughout the remainder of the game we see droves of red templars were still running around, rogue mages (to some degree), and scores of Venatori regardless of which faction you side with. Anyway. It also never really made sense that we don't see Cullen fighting anything during the siege of Haven; this chapter rectifies that. In spades! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all the amazing comments. I am truly glad you're enjoying the story. More to come, probably in about a week. I'm in the last two weeks of my term and up to my eyeballs in papers and (soon) finals. >

_Firstfall 25, Dragon 9:41_  


The operation to close the breach was delayed by nearly two weeks on account of the fact that Orzammar, which surprisingly readily agreed to sell to them, had no lyrium agents in their vicinity with enough stock. They’d have to send a caravan from the great dwarven city. While they waited, Cullen and Mnemyn developed sort of a new evening routine.

Cullen attempted to stifle a yawn with his hand to no avail, causing Rylen to chuckle at his side.

“Up late again, eh?”

“We were reading,” Cullen said.

Rylen smirked and slanted him a playful look to tease him. “As you say.”

Cullen really wasn’t stretching the truth; they really had been sitting together – she read the book he'd given her and he worked on reports – and, after, he’d stood vigil as usual. At some point after they’d received word the lyrium shipment would be delayed, Mnemyn had somehow managed to convince him to modify his work habits. Instead of toiling away late into the evening in the war room, he’d bring his paperwork to her cottage and they’d chat lightly while he worked and she read. It was a surprisingly delightful way to pass an evening. Granted, any time he spent with her was delightful; that he was getting more than usual was wonderful.

Today was the operation. Cullen had been up before dawn to organize the troops and templars before making the march to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Mnemyn and her team rode behind them – much to her chagrin – at Cullen’s insistence. If there were demons or any other hazards in the way, he wanted the Army to take care of it. Rylen’s voice dragged him back to the present as he gently joked about their age.

“Not as young as we once were,” Rylen said. “I’m findin’ it hard t’stay awake past eight these days.”

“You’re not becoming an old man, Rylen,” Cullen said. “I forbid it.”

“Oh, well in that case could y’inform my body o’that order? And mebbe the Maker whilest yer at it?”

“I’ll get right on that,” Cullen said.

Thankfully, the ride to the temple was blessedly devoid of any danger, drama, or hazards and they arrived in short order sometime after the sun climbed over the Frostbacks. Leliana arranged her people around the outer ring of the ruins, bows in hand should a Pride demon emerge like the last time they attempted this. Within their protective ring, at the lip of the crater, Cullen stationed the senior templars.

He and Ser Markham had agreed they should be in close proximity to the Herald to allow her to draw on their collective willpower as they worked to suppress the Breach. He and the Knight-Captain from Highever had gotten on well – Markham was reserved but had a clever mind and a wry sense of humor – and that made working together that much easier.

Now, as they stood on the precipice of the unknown, Cullen could feel his stomach roiling. He’d stationed his troops behind the templars so that, in case of any mishap, they could rush in and aid Mnemyn. He himself stood at the rear of the troop formation. Mnemyn commented on how odd that seemed—he always led from the front—but said nothing further. He was glad for that because his reasoning had more to do with his battle with lyrium addiction more than tactics or strategy. By placing himself at the rear of the troops, he’d be shielded from the lyrium the templars would use during the ritual.

He felt anxious as he watched Mnemyn take her position. She turned briefly, scanning the crowd – presumably for him – and frowned slightly when she didn’t find what she was looking for. As she knelt to prepare herself, Cullen began to recite the Benediction to himself.

Minutes later, Cullen huffed out a sigh of relief as Mnemyn projected a massive bolt of rift energy toward the Breach. The templars behind her also let out a collective sigh, relaxing ever so slightly as they watched the energy ribbon shudder across the swirling chaos of the roiling Veil storm above them before dissipating completely. They hadn’t anticipated the resulting shockwave, however, and everyone was blown down and backwards.

Cullen heard several people gasp as he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the crater floor. _Maker, please let her be all right._

Ahead of him, he could see Cassandra—also already on her feet—pushing through the crowd in an attempt to reach the Herald. Mnemyn wasn’t moving. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he leapt into the crater and dashed toward her. “Make a hole!”

As he ran, he saw her stir—she must’ve been dazed—and Cullen felt as though he could breathe again. By the time he’d reached her, Cassandra was in the process of hauling Mnemyn to her feet, a look of near motherly concern writ across her face. She smiled warmly at the Seeker’s concern and placed a reassuring hand over hers then nodded to indicate she was in fact all right. Cassandra dragged in a deep breath, relaxing for only a moment before reverting to her usual stony veneer.

Sensing that the Seeker was satisfied with her response, Mnemyn at once turned her gaze in his direction, beaming a positively exuberant smile at him. Cullen felt warmth bloom across his cheeks and a wave of delight ripple through his abdomen _. Maker’s breath, just a smile and I become useless…._  
  
“It would seem,” Mnemyn said, “a celebration is in order. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”

“I suppose it’d be good for morale,” he said. He couldn’t help smiling in return. At his side, Cassandra snorted.

Later that evening, as they celebrated their victory in successfully closing the Breach, Cullen found himself literally without anything to do. Suddenly, he was aware of a presence on his left flank and turned to see Rylen grinning at him, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Something amusing, my friend?”

“You look a tad lost, Commander,” Rylen remarked playfully, “perhaps you ought to mingle. Y’might find some casual conversation helpful.”

Cullen slanted him a mildly suspicious look and, before he could remark he noticed Mnemyn walking their way. She was talking quietly with Solas.

Rylen called out to her, “Herald! T’is a pleasure to see you this fine eve!”  
  
_So that’s what he was about_ , Cullen griped mentally. He watched as Solas said his goodbyes to Mnemyn, nodding respectfully to he and Rylen and before haring off for somewhere more quiet.

“Rylen!” she said. It was plain from her joyful halloo that she was positively bursting with happiness. “T’is good to be seen!”

“You look like ye’re on cloud nine, Your Worship.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” she grinned as the gregarious Starkhavener pulled her into a warm hug, “This is quite the accomplishment for all of us.”

“Indeed,” Cullen agreed quietly.

His heart fluttered when she turned to cast a bright, bewitching smile at him. “And none of this would have been possible without our esteemed advisors. Especially our beloved Commander.”

“You are too kind, Your Worship.”

“And you far too humble!” she said.

“Well,” Rylen said, “I think I’m down a pint! This must be rectified immediately!”

Both he and Mnemyn chuckled as Rylen meandered off in the direction of the kegs, falling into an easy, comfortable silence as their laughter died away.

“Would you…care for a walk?”

“If it means I get to cast off my title and be just me, definitely,” she said.

“Of course.”

They meandered uphill toward the Chantry, away from the raucous cheering and merry-making to a spot between Leliana’s usual haunt and Threnn’s tent, both deserted.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“A bit tired but mostly overjoyed,” she said. “What do you think will happen now? With the Inquisition, I mean.”

“I imagine we’ll likely begin winding down our recruitment, reducing the size of our army to a small peacekeeping force, and, once that’s completed, turn our focus to unravelling how the Divine was murdered as well as fixing this… _issue_ with the red lyrium.”

She nodded along as he spoke, her hands clasped behind her back. “A very sound course of action. Not that you’d propose anything that wasn’t…that is to say—”

“Mnemyn,”

“Hm?”

“Perhaps we ought to discuss something else? Other than... the Inquisition?”

“Oh,” she said, “Yes, I suppose we haven’t… discussed that topic—”  
  
She paused, seeming at once flustered and completely taken by him. He smiled gently and moved a little closer. She stilled as he drew near, regarding him with a slightly owlish look. Her expression was completely unreadable and so he wasn’t sure if she was still nervous or if that was a look of apprehension. Erring on the side of caution, he decided to suggest a change of subject.

“We can speak of something else if—”

“No—no, it’s fine. I’m fine… you’re fine… Maker have mercy! Why am I so tongue tied?”

He considered, albeit briefly, making a ribald comment about what he’d like to do with her tongue. _No_ , he decided, _now is not the time for off-colour jokes_. She was blushing, her hands on her cheeks, and staring at a spot somewhere at his feet. “T’is my normal state of being whilst in your presence…”

She glanced up at him blinking, her eyes slightly widened with surprise. He smiled warmly at her, reaching to gently cup her cheek. “Tongue tied because of me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” he said.

“But…I’m a mage.”

“You could be Flemeth and I’d still be rendered useless in your presence, my lady,” he said.

They were drifting closer to one another. She gasped as her knee brushed one of his own, staring up at him with hooded eyes as he leaned closer still. She was positively beguiling in the silvery light of the moon; it danced on her hair and made her pale skin glow softly in the dimness. _Maker, why’ve I waited so long to do this?_

Just as their eyes fluttered shut and right before their lips met, warning bells began toll. Cullen jerked his head away, looking in the direction of the bulwark.

“Warning bells?” she said. Her voice was stilted and husky when she spoke, making part of him nearly whine with annoyance that he’d been cheated a kiss. But he couldn’t think about that now. No, there was indeed something wrong and, as he scanned the valley beyond something caught his attention and his stomach lurched.

“Yes,” Cullen said, “something’s gone wrong. Look, there!”

He pointed off in the distance. There were torches, scores and scores of torches, marching in a long, slow line down into the valley below Haven.

“Maker! There’s hundreds of them,” she breathed, “possibly _thousands_.”

Cullen paused, turning to look at her with regret. She gave him a wry smile, placed a gentle hand on his cheek and shook her head. “It never ends, apparently.”

Without another word, she slipped her hand into his and they were off, running toward the bulwark. Together. And, somehow, that made this terribly bad situation at least tolerable. For now, at least.

As they approached the main gate, they both began to rally men to bar the gates they shared a quick look and Cullen inclined his head toward the ladder, signaling his intent to take a closer look. Mnemyn nodded and, like a shot, he was up one of the watchtower ladders to see who or what was approaching. One of his aides, Jim, pressed a spyglass into his hand as he gained the platform. Below him, he could hear Mnemyn shouting orders - instructing archers and mages to take their places on the catwalks – while also shooing curious civilian onlookers toward the Chantry. “If you’re not affiliated with the Inquisition’s military, you must retreat to safety! Please take refuge in the Chantry!”

On the mountainside less than a half mile away he saw something that made his heart nearly stop: a spindly creature which towered nearly two and a half meters tall. It was monstrous with jagged bits of red crystal growing from its face and body. Beside it, to his shock, stood someone he’d served with in Kirkwall. He felt anger surge through him at this realization. “That _blighted_ _bastard!_ ” 

Cassandra and Josephine had joined the ever growing gaggle of Inquisition leadership at the foot of the watch tower, both looked to him for guidance.

“Cullen?” said Cassandra.

“One watch guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain.”

As he shook his head in disbelief and began to climb down, Josephine, who was wringing her hands fretfully, thought to inquire which army was attacking them. “Under what banner?”

“None.”

“None? But—”

Before the ambassador could finish her thought, there was a commotion on the other side of the bulwark. Shouting, followed by the familiar crackle of—was that lightning?—yes, lightning, followed by the smell of ozone, men screaming in horror, the stench of burnt flesh and then silence. Josephine recoiled, burying her mouth and nose in the crook of her arm.

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!”

Mnemyn spun into action before he did, moving to help the guards remove the heavy bar from the bulwark’s gate. As the oaken doors swung open they were shocked to find a man, kneeling with his back to them, a ring of dead red templars surrounding him. From the cut and fashion of his clothes, Cullen could deduce two things: the man was a mage and he more than likely hailed from Tevinter. _Andraste wept. A Tevinter, here?_

As usual, Mnemyn thought not of her own safety but that of another’s and rushed forward to help the stranger. Though this time, Cullen had anticipated what she’d meant to do and charged out ahead of her, keeping his free hand extended to his side in a protective gesture to prevent her from slipping past him.  
  
He nearly shivered when she pressed close to his arm, arching up onto the balls of her feet to peer over his shoulder at the stranger. Cullen kept his sword trained on the man who was just now beginning to drag himself to his feet. He was out of breath and looked bedraggled—almost exhausted.

“I—came to warn you…” the stranger began through labored breaths, “fashionably late, I’m afraid.”

As he moved to rise to his full height, the newcomer stumbled and nearly collapsed. Thinking quickly, Cullen stabbed his sword into the earthen road and caught him in both arms. The stranger nodded in thanks to him as he steadied him and then wobbled to his feet again.  
  
“I’m a mite exhausted, don’t mind me,” he said. “My name is Dorian Pavus and I bring grave news from Redcliff. There is an army comprised of rebel mages and red templars right behind me.”

Cullen heard Mnemyn growl under her breath at his side. He turned to glance at her and saw her hands clenched to fists, her jaw clenched in fury. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a calming gesture – and one he was vaguely aware was ironic as she was usually the one calming him – before sharing a perturbed and knowing look. She shook her head as if to say, _it figures_ , and huffed out a sigh before returning her focus to the mage.  
  
“They are under the command of the Venatori, whom themselves are in service to something called the Elder One.”

Dorian turned to gesture toward the ridge where Samson already stood, his brows drawn together. “The woman there, her name is Calpurnia—she commands the Venatori. The man, I’ve heard called Samson, he’s the general of the red templars. And that… _thing_ beside them I presume is this supposed Elder One.”

“ _Maker’s balls!_ ” Mnemyn swore. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Cullen would’ve laughed—he’d never heard her utter something so foul before—but now was not the time for laughter. They needed a plan. And quickly. As Dorian continued, Cullen’s mind whirled – examining a half a dozen plan to stave off the invasion force.

“They were already marching on Haven,” Dorian said, “I risked my life to get here first.”

“We appreciate your effort Messere Pavus,” Mnemyn said. She paused, thinking better of the formal honorific she’d given him and spoke again. “I apologize. Altus, I presume?”

Dorian grinned broadly, “My, my—a southerner who doesn’t presume I’m a magister. Count me impressed.”

“Yes, the Herald is incredibly clever but I’d argue we haven’t time for pleasantries,” Cullen said. He’d expressed his discontent at what he perceived was flirting somewhat more tersely than he’d intended – earning him a mildly sharp look from Mnemyn as a result. He gave her an apologetic look and watched as she turned to focus on the advancing horde. Her brow furrowed in thought, she turned to him again, her expression equal parts unease and determination.

“Cullen, give me a plan, anything,” Mnemyn said. There was an underlying quality to her voice—a slight quiver of panic—that immediately caught his attention. He turned to her and what he saw in her expression surprised him. Behind her veneer of confidence and unyielding fortitude, he could detect something he’d only seen in her once – at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes – fear.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we _must_ control the battle. You’ll have to get out there and hit that force.”  
  
He held her gaze for a beat and gave her a reassuring look which he hoped convey how much faith he had in her. Knowing full well she’d likely come up with something brilliant in the heat of battle, dropping his voice slightly for emphasis, he encouraged her to think and attack the enemy creatively. “Use _everything_ you can.”

She nodded firmly in answer and she seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments. At that moment, he felt the overwhelming need to kiss her. His pragmatism kicked in, however, reminding him that duty called and they could spare no time for selfish sentiment. As Cullen drew his sword and began to turn toward the bulwark with the intent to rally the Inquisition’s forces, he felt gooseflesh prickle his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end in excitement and anticipation of the battle to come. This was the moment he’d been training their forces for. All their hard work would pay off today. Part of him wondered how many would be lost in the fray. If only they’d had a more defensible base. _No, I haven’t the time for doubt. I must focus. Our very lives depend on it._

“Soldiers! Gather the villagers! Fortify and watch for advanced forces! Mages! You have sanction to engage! That man is Samson, he will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! _For all of us!_ ”

Mnemyn raced past him like a shot, her staff already in hand as she made her way toward the spot where her companions had gathered in a tight knit clump near the bulwark’s gate. She called out to them, her voice full of command and confidence. “Cassandra, take point. Varric and Bull, you’re with me. Sera, Solas, Vivienne, and Altus Pavus, you’re our last line of defense. See that no one gets past this bulwark. Cole and Blackwall get those who cannot defend themselves to safety. Barring that, do as Commander Cullen asks of you.

“This won’t be easy but I have faith that the Maker is with us. I can think of no better companions to wade into the fray with. _For the Inquisition! For Andraste!_ ”

As she spoke, Cullen caught both Cassandra and Varric’s attentions and gave them a grim but meaningful look before flicking his gaze toward Mnemyn, silently asking them to protect her for him. Cassandra tipped him a slight nod in return while Varric, on the other hand, bowed his head a moment – it seemed he was surprised by Cullen’s silent request – before he, too, nodded in return to indicate he understood. There was conviction in both their expressions and Cullen felt a modicum of relief knowing they would not let anything happen to Mnemyn.

As he watched the woman he loved throw herself between a massive advancing army and the hapless, barely fortified village they’d come to call home, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. To his surprise, he looked up to see the Qunari at his side. Bull gave him a firm nod before flicking his gaze in the direction of Mnemyn’s retreating back indicating that he, too, pledged to protect her with his life. Cullen held the other man’s gaze for a beat and returned the nod before sparing one last glance at Mnemyn.

He could hear shouting in the valley below—the first of the monster’s forces had engaged their troops—and he said a silent prayer for them all before turning to prepare those who stood ready at the bulwark. “Bar the gates! Sentries, watch for the Herald to return and inform me at once.”


	21. Forged in Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege of Haven continues with some surprising results: a friendship is forged, the Commander bonds with the Herald's companions, some unfortunate injuries are suffered, and a surprising new alliance is formed -- all in the heat of battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I took a short break from writing this (stupid, stupid, stupid) program (because I was pulling out my hair) and happened to see an email from my editor. Yay! So here's the new chapter! Happy Friday! (so many exclamation points!!!)

_Haven: the bulwark, Firstfall 25, Dragon 9:41_  
  


The next half hour was nearly a blur. Cullen, followed by Cole, Blackwall, and the newcomer, Dorian, raced up and down the line of the bulwark as a steady stream of Red Templars and rebel mages tried to break through their defenses. Above them on the watch towers and adjoining catwalks, Solas, Vivienne and Sera, who had been joined by both Scout Lace Harding and Leliana, stood picking off intruders as they advanced and providing Cullen and his team cover fire when necessary and shielding when the fighting became heavy.

Meanwhile, behind them, he could hear Rylen as he worked tirelessly evacuated scores of people to the chantry.

“Take only what you can carry!” Cullen heard him shout from over his shoulder. “Necessities and foodstuffs only if y’please! No, Seggrit, for the fifth bloody time: y’can’t haul yer damned cart up there!”

“My lady, as much as I’m sure we’d all love a bath later, ye’re going to have to leave your bejeweled tub behind. Yes, well, I’d be sad too if it were a gift from me mum but I’m sorry, your Ladyship, but we haven’t the space for such— _ornate_ objects.”

Cullen huffed out an amused laugh as he listened to Rylen arguing with random Orlesian nobles, ducking a poorly aimed fireball from an enemy mage. He felt a ripple of power and jerked his head toward the source to see Ser Markham flanked by Knight-Lieutenants Gregory and Donnell.

“Greatly appreciated, Ser Markham!”

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun now could I, Commander?”

Cullen chuckled, whirling under the blade of a Red Templar Shadow before stabbing it in the back, his sword punching through the thing’s chest. He kicked it off his blade while Markham kindly protected his back. “No, I suppose not.”

“That these things…” Markham said, “that they were once our brothers sickens me, Commander.”

“We’ll make Samson pay for this,” Cullen said. “You have my word.”

The heat and tempo of the battle separated them and, after a time, Cullen lost track of Markham, Gregory, and Donnell. Part of him had every confidence in their abilities yet his blighted voice of doubt made him worry something awful had befallen them. They’d just about demolished the Red Templar squads and their accompanying mages when Cullen caught sight of men clad in Tevinter armor – Dorian had called them the Venatori? – charging toward them in squads.

The battle ebbed and flowed and, for a time, it looked as though he may be forced to retreat inside the gate. Vivienne, however, allowed them to get the upper hand with some precisely timed pyrotechnics which burned as many Venatori as it sent running in fear. Wiping the sweat from his brow during a slight lull, Cullen had to admit that, while the Red Templars had been a formidable force, their Venatori handlers were extraordinarily talented. Granted, he and his men were far better trained and disciplined but where the Venatori lacked in those areas, they certainly made up for in superior gear and magical objects.

Surprisingly, he and Dorian had fallen into an easy rhythm which they managed to maintain, more or less, for nearly the duration of the battle. The newcomer to their merry band of misfits, although damnably arrogant, was an incredibly gifted mage—on par with Mnemyn herself—and was a clever ally to have at his side. Despite his earlier wariness, Cullen found himself slowly becoming rather impressed by his abilities as well as thankful for the Tevinter’s sudden appearance.

Dorian seemed to sense this as well. “You know, Commander, I’d say we make _quite_ a pair. Wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
“If you mean to say we’re formidable allies, then yes, I agree.”

“I don’t suppose you’re not already taken—,”

“I’m flattered, Messere,” Cullen said, “but I am spoken for. You’ve, uhm, met her.”

“Lucky girl,” Dorian said, “I hate her already!”

“If th’ two o’ you are done flirting—” Blackwall quipped, “I could use some help here!”

Cullen turned to see hulking Red Templar – it was positively enormous, standing nearly as tall as the bulwark behind them. Neither Mnemyn nor Cassandra’s reports had quite captured how utterly grotesque and almost other worldly these things who’d once been men. Before he could move to assist, the giant bulk of red crystal batted the Warden away like a gnat. Blackwall was sent flying through the air, landing on his arse nearly three meters away, a small dust cloud rising from the road as he skidded to a halt.

“Solas, Vivienne and Sera, focus fire on this— _thing_!” Cullen yelled. “Cole, assist Warden Blackwall.”

“That’s a Behemoth, darling,” Vivienne helpfully supplied while lobbing a fireball at the beast’s head. _Maker’s breath, is there even a shred of the man this thing once was left inside?_

While he and Dorian kept the thing busy, their ranged companions whittled away its defenses. After a few moments, Blackwall and Cole rejoined the fray and, with the addition of their skill, the seven of them were able to bring the Behemoth down. As it crashed to the ground at Cullen’s feet, dead, the four of them stood panting for breath. Blackwall passed around a canteen of water which Cullen was incredibly grateful for.

As he stood taking a drink, in the distance, he could see Mnemyn and her team fighting their way to the second trebuchet. She’d set off the first, nearly fifteen minutes ago, successfully causing a slide that buried the front advancing lines of the Elder One’s advance forces. Unfortunately, the result only seemed to anger Samson. Cullen knew the former templar had a terrible temper and hated losing and thus would likely redouble his efforts. The wave he and his team had just fought was just the first of many to come.

He passed the canteen to Dorian, his eyes trained on the ridge below the second trebuchet. Sure enough, he spotted four new squads of corrupted Red Templars, followed by smaller squads of rebel mages, marching toward Mnemyn’s position. What he saw behind them, however, gave him pause. Nearly a full platoon of Venatori were organizing on the frozen river below. Samson meant to overwhelm and her. Apparently, Dorian had reached the same conclusion.

“Fastevas! They mean to kill her, Commander,” Dorian said at his side.

The familiar buzz of opposing magic made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He wheeled but not quickly enough. An enemy mage was casting what appeared to be a massive fireball. He shouted a warning, stabbed his sword into the ground beside him and bodily hauled Dorian behind his shield, watching as Blackwall did the same with Cole.

But the fireball never came. Instead, he heard three arrows whiz overhead from the barricade above him in rapid succession and looked up to see one piercing the woman’s jugular while the other two were lodged in her eye sockets. Blinking, he spared a glance over his shoulder to see not Leliana or Harding, but Sera standing on the catwalk above, a snarl on her lips. She nodded to him as if to say he was welcome and he numbly managed to nod back.

“Remind me to never make that young woman angry,” Dorian quipped smoothly.

“You’d be wise not to even on a good day,” Cullen said.

He was already moving to the gate as quickly as he could and shouted up to Solas. “Send someone to find Knight-Captain Rylen! Tell him to bring the reserves up _immediately_ to replace me. The Herald is in danger and needs assistance.”

“Of course, Commander!” Solas said in his usual calm timber. A second later, he disappeared from view. How that man could remain so composed at all times, he did not know.

Just a few minutes later, Rylen and two full squads rushed through the gate – a third squad on their flanks dragging barricades. “Commander!”  
  
“Her Worship looks as though she may be overrun. I—”

“We’ll hold th’ line, Commander!”  
  
Rylen nodded and turned to bark orders but not before sharing a meaningful look with him. He knew how much was at stake.

Cullen turned to look up at the catwalk his eyes searching for Sera. It didn’t take him long to find her. She was near the end of the walk, her face set with both determination and fear as she tried to range the Red Templars whom were quickly encircling Mnemyn and her team. He ran toward her position and called out to her. “Sera, with me!”  
  
The elf blinked, staring down at him for a moment in shock. The leap between he and the ground was nearly four meters and, seeing her hesitance, he shouldered his shield and stabbed his sword into the earthen road beside him. “I’ll catch you. We haven’t a moment to waste!”

Without any further hesitation, she tossed down her bow and quiver, which Blackwall retrieved, and then leapt from the bulwark, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Cullen caught her with ease and gently sat her on her feet before helping her collect her gear.

“Uhm, thanks… for thinkin’ t’bring me.”

He nodded but said nothing to her, as was their usual routine, pausing only long enough to look back at his other companions, issuing a new order. “Onward! To the Herald!”

He grabbed his sword and hefted his shield before taking off in a sprint. At his back he heard his motley crew of companions follow.

“Maker’s balls!” Blackwall shouted. “That’s the Grand Enchanter Fiona!”

Mnemyn was locked in single combat with the elder mage, her brow set in determination.

“I don’t know what that thing’s told you, Grand Enchanter, but I can assure you—,” she said. Ducking a bolt of lightning, she cast another barrier over herself. “I am not your fucking enemy!”

“Oh but I am!” Dorian said under his breath, unleashing what appeared to be a necromantic spell. Cullen watched as the Grand Enchanter, who had clearly not seen their approach, clutched her head and wailed in terror. He nodded his thanks to the Tevinter for giving them an opening to join the battle. “What delightful fun, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”

“You have a strange definition of fun, my friend,” Cullen retorted wryly.

“Friends? All ready? My, my, it would seem my charms are as effective as ever.”  
  
Several Red Templars were moving to flank Mnemyn and Cullen shot forward, dodging past her to interpose himself between her and them. He was shocked at how monstrous this pair of Behemoths appeared – the red lyrium had fused their armor to their bodies and it almost appeared as though the metal had become twisted and jagged where the crystalline structures of lyrium had punched through it. It occurred to him now as he stood locked in combat with them, these men might even have been friends of his at one time. That he couldn’t even recognize them as human anymore troubled him deeply.

Blackwall skidded to a halt beside him, grunting as he grappled with the second Behemoth. A second later, Blackwall ducked and just in time, too, because the thing swung its massive claw arm – the width of a moderately sized tree trunk – at his head. Cullen bashed his shield into the face of a Shadow, knocking it to the ground dazed. A moment later, it was pierced by no less than four crossbow bolts, killing it. _I suppose being friends with Varric has its perks outside of help with wooing Mnemyn_ , Cullen thought, smirking to himself as he turned to assist Blackwall, stabbing the Behemoth in the thigh to get its attention.

While he was preoccupied with helping Blackwall, a second Shadow melted out of seemingly nowhere and managed to catch him as he had his shield facing front, slashing him between the lower plate of his rerebraces and the elbow joint of his vambrace. He grunted, whirled and stabbed the thing in the throat watching as it gurgled its last breath.

The Behemoth roared and the Warden hauled him around and to his back, shielding them both from another vicious attack from its claw. As they stood huddled behind Blackwall’s shield, waiting for the creature to let up, the Warden scrutinized Cullen’s wound. “Need to make sure no shards were left b’hind. That shite gets into your system and—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Cullen managed through clenched teeth.

“Madame de Fer!” Blackwall yelled. His voice echoed over the din across the battlefield, successfully catching the Enchantress’ attention. “The Commander’s been struck by a Shadow.”

“Say no more darling!”

 _When did Vivienne join the fray?_ When last he’d seen her, she was still on the bulwark where Mnemyn’d ordered her to stand with Solas at the main gate. Perhaps Rylen had deemed the situation under control and sent her to assist?

He heard Mnemyn make a pained noise and, in his peripheral vision, could see her leaning on her staff. Remaining crouched behind Blackwall, clutching his bleeding triceps, he turned his head look in her direction and growled. Seeing there was a sizable gash along her right side, blood soaking the teal sash she wore under her belts; Fiona had clearly managed to break through her defenses. And immediately he realized why; Mnemyn was staring at him, her eyes wide with concern.

Blackwall’s revelation had drawn her attention to him which left her open to attack. His first instinct was to disengage so he could turn to bash Fiona in the face. Though he knew if he moved at all there’d be a very strong possibility that if there was any red lyrium in his wound, it’d very likely work its way into his blood to infect him.

He gave Mnemyn a stern look as if to say not to worry about him and then looked up to see Vivienne descend on him like a graceful, if not entirely too flashy, bird. “Let’s see your arm, darling.”

He turned to allow her unfettered access to the wound, teeth clenched in preparation for the pain that would accompany her examination. He felt the familiar ripple of magic race across his skin and glanced to see the First Enchanter studying his wound with determination, her right hand glowing with a faint, elegant blue light. After a moment she smiled. “No red lyrium, dear. You were quite lucky; Shadows are much more brittle than the others. I’d suggest speaking to Harritt about a set of full Gardebras once this nonsense is over.”

Cullen nodded as she pressed a healing potion into his hand. “Thank you, Madame de Fer.”

“My pleasure, darling. Now do be more careful. Her Worship would be beside herself should something happen to you.”

Cullen nearly choked on the healing potion, staring up at the elder mage eyes widened in surprise. Vivienne smirked but said nothing more, gliding off to rejoin the fight while commanding her mystical fade sword flying through the air to strike her next target.

Meanwhile, Mnemyn was still engaged in combat with Fiona. The two had more or less come to a stalemate and had begun circling one another with ill intent, each looking to find the proverbial chink in the other’s armor.

“I didn’t want to do this,” Mnemyn said, her voice ragged. She straightened and reached out with her free hand, her fingers splayed and flexing outward toward the Grand Enchanter. Immediately the other woman began to freeze, _literally_ , ice crystals growing rapidly up from the ground to encase her in a person sized glacier right up to her neck. She tried to speak, obviously to cast a counter spell, but Mnemyn ripped her hand into a fist and ice flowed over the other woman’s mouth. “But you’ve left me with few choices!”  
  
Dorian rushed up to her side to at once guard her flank and press a healing elixir into her hand. As she drank it down, Dorian turned to acidly dress down the senior mage. “Can you not see the madness in your master’s eyes, Grand Enchanter? That thing means to tear the world asunder. Are you so resentful of your Chantry that you’ll help him do it? Or perhaps you’re just that foolish? A pity someone of your stature and ability would fall to ruin so easily!”

“Altus!”

Fiona’s eyes went wide with shock and, possibly, fury but Dorian did not relent. “You do realize he means to enter the Fade, don’t you, Grand Enchanter? Perhaps you aspire to the lofty goals set forth by the despicable Magisters of old who blackened the golden city and cursed us with the darkspawn. I’d wager this would set off the second coming of the darkspawn; you’d be responsible for that, Grand Enchanter.”

The ice began to crack. “ _Dorian!_ ”

“Well, I suppose that makes you as much a villain as he!”

“Are you mad?” Mnemyn demanded, throwing up a shield over both of them as the ice exploded, sending crystalline shards hurtling through the air like icy, sparkling daggers.

“Trust me,” he grinned.

“You would dare assert I, _a former Grey Warden_ , would wish to strengthen the darkspawn?”

“It would seem so—perhaps you could enlighten us?”

“He said the Chantry wished to enslave us once again—but this time we’d be bound in actual chains. Like the Qunari do to their mages! I could not let that happen to my people! I had no knowledge he was responsible for this Breach. He said you were, Enchanter Trevelyan!”

“Oh yes, because I simply love destruction and mayhem.” Mnemyn spat. “You know my record, Grand Enchanter! I have never been anything but peaceful—in fact it was you who presided over my thesis on how to humanely rehabilitate abominations back into their human forms.”

“Don’t be a fool, Grand Enchanter!” Cassandra yelled from across the battlefield. “The Herald wishes to save Thedas from the Breach not destroy it!”

Fiona stood still, staring at them and the chaos that roiled around them. It seemed that, for the first time, she was seeing the damage her new master had wrought. Finally, she bowed her head and, a moment later, she knelt in surrender and laid her staff on the ground at her feet. “I yield, Herald. Do what you must.”

“I’d sooner destroy a stained glass window than a deeply respected and learned mage such as yourself, Grand Enchanter. Join me and atone. Together we can fix this regrettable mess!”

Fiona looked up at her in shock. Clearly, she’d not expected Mnemyn to spare her, let alone ask her to join the Inquisition. Cullen wasn’t terribly thrilled by the idea himself but found he was at once entirely too busy keeping the Red Templars at bay as well as wanting to give his beloved the benefit of the doubt.  
  
“I don’t understand—you would spare my life?”  
  
“Yes, I would,” Mnemyn said. She held out her hand in peaceful, welcoming gesture while smiling gently at the elder mage.

“And what of my comrades?”  
  
“If they desist their attacks, I will spare them as well. They are welcome to join the Inquisition but I insist that, after this they will submit to being monitored by the Inquisition.”

“You’ll get no such deal from that thing on the bluff,” Dorian said, “he’ll sacrifice you and your comrades at the earliest opportunity should you survive the day.”  
  
Fiona stared at the Herald’s outstretched hand for a moment, considering her offer. “Then I accept and humbly pledge myself to your cause.”

“Excellent. Now, if you’d be so kind to call off your companion mages? I’d prefer to save as many lives as I can today, Grand Enchanter.”

“Of course, Your Worship,” Fiona said. The Grand Enchanter curtsied deeply in respect before darting toward the edge of the bluff the Trebuchet sat on. Using a simple spell, she amplified her voice so it carried across the battlefield. “Mages! Hear me! We have been deceived. Desist! The Elder One has deceived us! We must help the Inquisition turn the tide against that monster!”


	22. Trial by Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus plays his hand, unleashing what appears to be an Archdemon on Cullen and the Herald. And, in the aftermath, she must make a heartbreaking decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, sorry! Finals are in progress so, after this, I should have a bit more time ... well for like 10 days then the next eight weeks begins. Sometime next week I'll update this chapter with some art. With everything going on, I didn't get a chance to finish it in time.
> 
> Anyway, this didn't quite fit with the other chapter so I kept it separate. And, honestly, I think it worked out better this way. I wanted their first kiss to be a really big deal. :)

_Haven,_ _Firstfall 25, Dragon 9:41_

Much to Cullen’s surprise, the other mages nearby almost immediately disengaged. Many briefly stared in Fiona’s direction, thunderstruck by her statement. It wasn’t long, however, before their bewilderment faded and turned to anger. They’d been not only duped but used and that it was for a deeply sinister purpose made things even more intolerable. Cullen imagined, had he been in their shoes, it’d be rather difficult not to charge off, blinded by rage, to confront this so called Elder One.

With the majority of the mages now on their side – he heard shouts from down range that suggested not all had stood down at the Grand Enchanter’s urging – their focus now turned to mopping up the remaining Red Templars. As they began to redouble their efforts on the remains of the squad at the trebuchet, Cullen heard Bull say something surprising. “You know, you’d make a really good Qunari, boss.”

“How do you figure, Bull?”

“We Qunari waste nothing. Not even our enemies.”

She nodded, “Pragmatic. All life is useful?”  
  
“Yep!”

The matter settled, Dorian, Mnemyn and the Grand Enchanter rejoined the fray. With their added firepower, Cullen and the others were able to begin to turn the tide. They had a few close calls—one of the hulking monstrosities managed to turn three lesser ones into larger ones and a few mages who refused Fiona’s order nearly froze then electrified Varric and Sera – all of which, of course, complicated matters for a time. They fought hard, though, and through Cullen and Mnemyn’s leadership, they finally defeated their foes.

Their enemies dead, Mnemyn wasted no time. She wheeled and ran for the trebuchet with the Iron Bull, Varric and Cassandra hot on her heels. Cullen instructed his team to form a loose skirmish line in front of the trebuchet in case another wave of enemies came up from the enemy’s reserves. Thankfully, no new foes arrived and, after a few agonizing minutes of Mnemyn and Bull turning wheel to wind the siege weapon, they set its payload aloft. They watched as the giant boulder hurtled toward the mountain peaks that lay behind the Red Templars and Venatori, and were dozens more were now streaming down from.

As the massive projectile hit, the impact sending debris and snow high into the air, they heard then saw the resulting avalanche tear through the enemy’s army, burying them. Behind him, he heard Varric cheer in celebration and turned to see the gregarious dwarf had thrust his fist in the air to punctuate their victory. He watched as Varric’s expression quickly turned to shock and then horror, and swung around to look in the direction his friend had been staring.

He drew in a sharp breath and swung about, grabbing Sera and pushing her toward Mnemyn. “Blackwall, Dorian, move! _NOW!_ ”

Bearing down on them was a dragon. _A fucking dragon_. One that happened to bear a striking resemblance to the illustrations he’d seen of an Archdemon. It was at that moment, watching it wheel in the sky and turn toward them, that he realized what it meant to do. His stomach churned as he ran, shepherding his friends ahead of him as the dragon, or whatever it was, swooped down to shoot the strangest looking fireball – was that red lyrium fire? – at the trebuchet they’d just been gathered around.

Seconds stretched into what seemed like minutes and, as they continued to flee the fire and debris erupting behind them, time almost seemed to have stopped. As they ran, scrabbling to put distance between them and the explosion, he could see the fear and confusion on each one of their friend’s faces. _Well, at least I’m not imagining that’s not normal fire_ , he thought wryly as Mnemyn stumbled in front of him. His reflexes sharpened and honed by nearly two decades of training and combat, Cullen immediately caught and righted her, gingerly pushing her ahead of him again.

No sooner than he’d pushed her ahead of him, he felt the heat on the back of his neck and the rush of the shockwave from the blast. He knew that, at best, he had barely a few seconds to react. Like a coiled spring, Cullen launched himself forward, hooking Mnemyn about the waist before he dove backwards, holding his shield up as the explosion roared above them.

To his surprise, Mnemyn fought him for a second – or so he thought; he looked down to see her hauling Sera toward her and the protection of his shield. Once she had Sera situated – the cantankerous elf reaching to wrap an arm around Mnemyn, her free hand making purchase on the furry mantle of his cloak – he felt Mnemyn turn in his arms. With her free hand, she cast a protective barrier around them and then reached to help brace his arm. Sera, meanwhile, had buried her face in the crook of Mnemyn’s neck and shoulder, swearing loudly and, he suspected, possibly crying. Not that he blamed her, really, the situation was both overwhelming and frightening – and certainly far outside any combat situation the Ferelden city elf had likely ever seen.

The three of them impacted the ground hard and skidded to a stop. Flaming debris rained down on them, impacting his shield and he fought to keep his arm aloft as some larger bits hit them. Cullen lay there a moment, struggling for breath; the wind had been knocked out of him. When the sounds of debris falling slowed, he began to lower his shield. Mnemyn rolled off and away from him, offering a hand up a somewhat dazed look on her face as she surveyed their surroundings.

Cullen accepted and, as he gained his feet, turned to see Cassandra just a few paces away where she'd dragged Varric and Vivienne to the ground to shield them from the blast. Blackwall, Dorian and Bull were climbing out from under the Warden’s shield as well as a few larger chunks of timber from the destroyed trebuchet.

“Shit! Who ordered the end of the damned world?” Varric remarked, staring gobsmacked at the destruction around them.

“Get your friggin’ elbow outta my ear, Weirdy!” Sera bellowed, shoving Cole away from her. Cullen turned his head to see Cole lying flat on his back, staring at the sky. Had he not taken refuge with either Cassandra or Blackwall? Perhaps he'd gone invisible or between planes as he sometimes did? He wondered if Cole thought Mnemyn might accidentally drop Sera as they were thrown from the blast. Not that it mattered now.

“I’m sorry, Sera, I was just trying to help,” Cole said flatly. The pale eyed young man turned to look at her now, frowning slightly and Sera snarled at him in answer, clearly preparing another rank comment.

“The two of you can argue later, once we’re out of harm’s way. We need to move. _Now_ ,” Cullen said. At his sharp comment, both their heads swiveled toward him and they mumbled their apologies. He heard Varric snigger at his side and shot him an arched look.

“Cullen Rutherford: former templar, Commander of the Divine’s army, and dad of the Inquisition,” Varric joked. In his best imitation of Cullen’s accent, he continued. “Don’t make me turn this Inquisition around!”

Several of their companions chuckled as loudly as they dared before Mnemyn shushed them. “We’ll have time enough for jocularity later. Everyone to the gates!” After issuing the order, she turned to look at him. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you when we landed?”

“I’m fine,” he said. Cullen ushered her ahead of him so he could guard her back and they both bolted down the road toward the bulwark gates. Along the way, they encountered Herritt; his building on fire, the smith was desperately trying to get inside. Mnemyn stopped to help and she and Bull smashed the door open. Once Herritt said he had things under control, they were off again.

They encountered pockets of resistance and heard shouts for help along the way. Cullen and Cole worked to free Seggrit who’d taken refuge in the Herald’s cottage and become trapped. As he hauled the man bodily from the residence, he heard Cole rummaging around and then the heavy sound of something being dragged. Turning, he saw Cole dragging Mnemyn’s world-worn trunk. He dropped it and then disappeared. Cullen couldn’t hesitate, however, and, sparing one last sad look at the trunk – knowing all the precious books inside would be burned to ash soon – he had to turn away to assist with the evacuation.

As he approached the Herald’s group once more, with Seggrit clinging to him due to the burns on his left leg, Mnemyn turned and told him to evacuate the unfortunate merchant. “Bull, see they both get to the Chantry safely if you please.”

He was about to argue when she caught his attention. “Cullen, I need you in the Chantry organizing our retreat.”

He nodded. This wasn’t a winnable situation. “You’ll—”

“I’ll be along shortly. I want to check the remaining cottages.”

He sighed in disapproval but knew there was no point in arguing. She’d go no matter what he said. Turning, he helped Seggrit up the hill watching Bull smash through a couple of straggling Red Templar foot soldiers. Finally, they made it into the Chantry which, unsurprisingly, was a bit of a mad house. He passed his injured companion off to a lay sister and went about taking control of the situation.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Rylen informed him the Herald had been spotted not far down the road. They were bringing a sizable group of unarmed civilians and had been ambushed by a small troupe of straggling Red Templars.

Cullen ran for the great oaken doors, his heart pounding and his stomach feeling a bit sour. _Please let them be all right_. Soon, he’d helped throw the doors open wide and saw the Herald and her companions racing toward him for shelter, the Dragon hot on their heels. And, just as Rylen said, she herded nearly a two dozen people she’d rescued in through the doors before she herself raced in.

By now, Cullen had a pretty clear idea of the grimness of the situation and began to explain to Mnemyn that they had few options for survival. “Herald, our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might’ve earned us.

“There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance.”

“There was no bargaining with the mages, either. This Elder One takes what it wants,” Dorian interjected. Cullen turned to see him assisting Chancellor Roderick, who appeared gravely wounded, into a chair. “From what I gathered in Redcliff, it marched all this way to take your Herald.

“Besides taking the templars, I’ve no idea what would incur this much wrath. And such a promising start with the landslide.” Dorian chuckled wryly and continued. “If only trebuchets remained an option.”

“They are, if we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.”

“We’re overrun,” Mnemyn said. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

“Well, that’s not acceptable,” Dorian said. The Tevinter rose to his feet and crossed the room to stand with them, frowning in a most disappointed way at him. “I didn’t race all the way here only to have you drop rocks on my head.”

Cullen nearly growled in annoyance, turning to face Dorian with a scowl. “Should we submit? Let him kill us?”

“Dying is typically a last resort, not first! For a templar, you think like a blood mage!”

Chancellor Roderick spoke up now, his voice sounding wheezy and far away. It wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to his wounds. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape.

“She must’ve shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could…tell you.”

As the Chancellor began to struggle to his feet, Dorian hurried to help him up, drawing his arm over his shoulder in an effort to give Roderick some stability. As he did so, Roderick mumbled his thanks and began to hobble toward the Herald. As he approached her, Mnemyn let out a slightly frustrated sigh and regarded him with a mildly perturbed look. “What are you on about, Roderick?”

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…I don’t know, Herald,” he said. Pausing only long enough to catch his breath, he continued. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

She turned to him and asked, “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path. But what of your escape?” He watched her turn toward the door, clearly intent on buying them the time they needed to evacuate. When she didn’t answer him he felt as though someone was stabbing him in the heart. Finally, he managed to summon his voice again and tried his best, despite the ball of wrong – as Cole would say – bouncing about in his stomach. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…”

When it seemed she would not be swayed, he turned and ordered the soldiers behind him to escort the Chancellor and help him show them the escape route. Then he signaled two soldiers to escort the Herald. As Dorian helped Roderick prepare for what would be an arduous trip, the elder man turned to Mnemyn, his expression that of wonder. “Herald…if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”

She nodded stiffly to the man who’d been her biggest critic, watching Dorian assist him in limping off to what they both knew would be his death. The two guards Cullen had ordered to escort her ran past to stand at the ready by the door. Off her questioning look he said, “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line; we shall send up a signal when we’re away. If we are to have a chance—if you are to have a chance—let that thing hear you.”

He watched her nod in reply and turn toward the Chantry door. Part of him knew he would never see her again and he felt a pang of regret for not having told her his feelings before now. Feeling selfish, he began to turn away but, before he took a step, he heard Mnemyn shout his name.

“Cullen! _Wait!_ ” He turned to see her running to him. As she drew near to him, she flung herself into his arms and hugged him tightly for a moment. Then she leaned up on the balls of her feet to plant a chaste kiss his cheek. “For luck.”

He felt a shudder of excitement pass through him and they stared into one another’s eyes for the briefest of moments. “I—”

 _No, I won’t let this opportunity pass me by_. She was already beginning to pull away. Shyly, he reached to take her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss. “For luck…”

She froze for a moment and then melted into the kiss. How he’d longed for this moment. To feel her soft, pliant lips against his. To hold her in his arms. Gently, he dragged his tongue across the seam of her lips and, when she almost immediately parted them to allow him entry, Cullen groaned softly and tugged her closer. Just the taste of her, her scent, and, Maker, how she felt pressed against him was nearly overwhelming. And, despite all this, Cullen managed to remain in control of himself. Instead, he kissed her deeply; languidly drawing out the moment as long as he could, while pouring every ounce of love he had for her into that kiss. Mnemyn sighed contentedly into his mouth, her fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his neck. It was clear she'd wanted this as much as he did.

 _How ironic that she is now going off to what will certainly be her death_ , he thought bitterly. Yet again, happiness was just out of reach.

His lungs burning from lack of air, he began to pull away though not before gingerly sucking at her lower lip for a moment before letting it go, watching as it sprang back into place. Mnemyn pulled back, just enough to look him in the eye, smiling breathlessly. They stared into one another's eyes for several beats and he could see so much longing, so much _want_ reflected in her beautiful blue-green eyes, his heart ached. She reached up to gently cup his cheek, tears welling in her eyes. She didn't want to go. She leaned in for one last short kiss, murmuring a reminder against his lips before slipping from his arms.

“You still owe me that talk…”

“Mnemyn—”

“I’ll see you soon, Commander, you have my word!”

And with that, she ran toward the great oaken doors of the Chantry which were now flung open wide.

He stood affixed to the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. _She’ll come back to me, she swore she would_. He had to get their people to safety. Sparing one last glance at her retreating back, he turned and as the Chantry door was closed behind her began marshalling his troops to begin the evacuation.

“ _That’s_ who you’re infatuated with? My goodness, Commander, the Herald of Andraste! You certainly aim high; I’ll give you that!”

“Oh shut up, won’t you?” Dorian barked with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. Cullen sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping slightly. Varric sidled up to stand next to him, slanting the Tevinter mage a look.

“Don’t worry, Curly,” Varric said, “The Herald is very resourceful. I’ve seen her get out of jams before that defied logic. She’ll come back.”


	23. Lost in the Wilderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mnemyn wakes up in an unfamiliar place and must figure out how to find shelter - or the Inquisition, if it survived - before succumbing to exposure. Meanwhile, Cullen and the others struggle to keep the survivors alive while worrying over what happened to Mnemyn. Tensions are high, tempers are short and, as it turns out, their spirit friend, Cole, is also missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! I'm happy to announce I'm done with finals! Yay! Now I can have a few blissful days off. Thank you everyone for the lovely comments, I'm very glad to hear you're enjoying the new chapters! Speaking of, 24 and 25 are with the editor and I've begun work on 27-30. We're coming up on settling into Skyhold, finally having "the talk," followed by Crestwood (and Alistair! Eeeee!) and the Winter Palace and which I hope will be a whole lot of fun. Well, not for Cullen... at least not right away. ;) I also have some surprises in store and a brand new character to introduce shortly after they discover Skyhold. To say I'm excited about the next six or so chapters might be an understatement! Well, that's all the news for now. See you next week with two more chapters!

* * *

 

_Haven, Firstfall 26, Dragon 9:41_

Mnemyn awoke to freezing cold droplets of water dripping intermittently on her head. The icy liquid rolled across her scalp and down the back of her neck, sending shivers up her spine. On a good day she’d have laughed it off, made some sort of joke about it. But today was not one of those days.

Everything hurt. _Everything._ She tried to push herself onto her side and a wave of dizziness sent her back to the floor. Had she hit her head? And on what? The rather distinct coppery tang of blood in her mouth, which did little to calm her rising anxiety, dragged her attention from the matter of where she was for the moment.

As she attempted to move, a sharp, stabbing pain lanced through her right side. So sharp, in fact, she felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes watered at the pain and she whimpered softly, squeezing her eyes shut until it passed. Minutes passed only marked by the drip, drip, drip of ice cold water on her shoulder. Letting out a serrated breath, she reopened her eyes and only saw inky, frigid darkness at first.

Instinctively, she summoned a wisp to light the darkness and, as her eyes swam into focus, she attempted to determine where she was. Wincing as she turned a little too quickly, a wave of pain and mild vertigo almost sending her crashing to the floor. As she lay there, eyes clenched shut while she waited for it to pass, she realized for the briefest of moments that she could not recall how she’d come to be in the pitch-black ice cave.

She stared at the debris around her, hoping to jog her memory but nothing came to mind. There was only white-hot, searing pain which emanated from her side, her left wrist, forehead, and right knee. _Focus past the pain,_ she told herself, and, calling on the drills she’d been taught by First Enchanter Marceline so many years ago it felt like a lifetime. Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and began to calm her mind.

As her fear and frustration faded away, her mind settled on Cullen. For a brief moment, she found herself smiling as she remembered their last evening together reading in the warm comfort of her cottage. She felt her cheeks bloom with blush at the remembrance of the kiss he’d given her on their parting. Oh sweet Maker was he an amazing kisser.

And then her mind settled on the look on his face when they parted. Immediately, her heart clenched and she clapped her free hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Fear gripped her now and she could feel her tears freezing on her cheeks as she worried that he hadn’t escaped the Elder One’s wrath. Nearly overwhelmed by grief, her thoughts spiraled out of control for a moment and the image of him lying dead and alone on the unforgiving mountain nearly made her hyperventilate.

With a considerable effort, she forced herself to refocus on her drills and, after several moments of concerted meditation, she began to calm down. Drawing in a deep breath to center her mind, she attempted once again to remember the last thing she saw before she’d blacked out.

Suddenly she was struck by the memory of glaring defiantly at the Elder One – Corypheus, it’d called itself – swearing she would _never_ bow before him. Dimly, she recalled drawing a discarded sword into her hand. _Yes, I remember now_ , she thought, _I repeated the verse from the Chant of Light;_ Andraste: 7.

 _Let the blade pass through the flesh,_  
_Let my blood touch the ground,_  
_Let my cries touch their hearts,_  
_Let mine be the last sacrifice!_

She closed her eyes, remembering how adrenaline had surged through her body as she slammed the blade down, severing the rope of the trebuchet. How vindicated she felt as its precious payload impacted the mountain and the vile, twisted thing that stood before her realized what she’d done. She remembered giving it one of those unspeakably rude hand gestures Sera was so fond of before turning to run for her life as the ensuing avalanche roared behind her.

She sat in quiet contemplation a moment longer, trying to figure out how she’d found the mineshaft. Finally, she decided either it was sheer luck or the hand of the Maker; being as devout as she was, she immediately decided it had to have been the Maker’s will. The bone chilling cold forced her to shiver and she was brought to her present predicament. How far did these tunnels go? And would they lead her to the other, safer side of the mountain or deliver her into Corypheus’ clawed hands?  
  
“Only one way to find out, Mnemyn,” she muttered wryly and drug herself to her feet, limping off down what appeared to be an abandoned mineshaft, her face set with determination.

“ _Andraste_ , give me strength…”

* * *

In the hours immediately following the attack, the survivors made a harried flight over miles of frigid, desolate and snow laden Frostback wilderness. With what few scouts they had left at their disposal, the Inquisition leadership had determined they’d not been followed and had settled down to camp amidst a small clearing in the midst of a dense copse of trees. Leliana had proposed the spot as it would shield them from the weather should it turn on them and, as the weather was always unpredictable in the mountains, everyone agreed it was a sound idea.

They soon found that, thankfully, while Rylen had been evacuating the civilians, he’d sent a squad to raid the Inquisition’s stores for tents, food and any sundry items they might find useful. Dennet, in the chaos, had also somehow managed to rescue the small herd of horses he’d brought with him and everyone was thankful for their presence. They were employed mostly as pack animals, carrying equipment, food, medicine, or dragging liters carrying the gravely injured. Cullen and his soldiers worked tirelessly to establish a camp while Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine sought to organize the civilians and what little supplies they’d managed to carry with them.

With the survivor’s needs finally tended to, the Inquisition’s leadership convened in a small lean-to over a make-shift command table – a barrel. Cullen paced restlessly, barely listening as Cassandra and Leliana argued fiercely over whether or not the Herald had survived the avalanche. Every few steps, he’d pause and glance in the direction of Haven, his heart clenching slightly when he did not see Mnemyn on the path to camp. Surely she’d found a way to escape. They’d made it through so much adversity, to lose her now would likely destroy the Inquisition and, Cullen somberly realized, him with it.

“We must stay put, Leliana,” Cassandra snapped acidly. Cullen turned to see her glaring daggers at their spymaster, her lip curled in a slight snarl. When Leliana did not relent, Cassandra stabbed an accusatory finger at her. “If your positions were reversed, Her Worship would come for you! If she survived, she is out there – _alone_ – looking for us.”

“If she survived, she would have already found us,” Leliana said. The calmness – almost coldness – of her tone raised Cullen’s hackles and he had to turn away to prevent himself from shouting her down. “We cannot afford to leave ourselves open to attack, Cassandra.”

“We must keep moving, our people need shelter and food,” Josephine said.

“I’ve sent two search parties back to Haven,” Cullen said. He had to pause for a moment and nearly stumbled, white-hot pain spiking behind his eyes suddenly. Cassandra moved to help him but he waved her off, mumbling his thanks as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off an oncoming headache. As he drew in a jagged breath, he wondered if Adan had managed to rescue anything before being evacuated. _Not likely._ “I’ve ordered them look for any signs of the Herald and retrieve what supplies they can find.”

“And…what of the dead?” Josephine asked quietly, her eyes downcast. Leliana must’ve seen the tears on the ambassador’s lashes because she turned to pull her into a hug. Offered comfort, Josephine’s usual vivaciousness as well as her well-kept façade of decorum crumbled as the stress and emotion of the last few hours finally caught up to her. With a choked sob, she laid her head on the former Left Hand’s shoulder and wept quietly.

He frowned and closed his eyes, blowing out a breath as he listened to her cry. As gently as he could manage, for as much pain as he was currently in, he explained how they’d show respect for those they’d lost. “Once we’ve found a defensible place of refuge, we can discuss returning to exhume the bodies for proper burials. Right now, we must concentrate on the living.”

“There is nothing more we can do now. It would be wise to attempt to sleep while things are…under control.” Cassandra said. Everyone nodded grimly and murmured their agreement. With nothing else to argue over, they adjourned their meeting and retired to the two tents occupied by the inner circle.

* * *

As Cullen slipped into the tent assigned to the men, Varric looked up, clearly hoping he brought good news. Cullen shook his head to indicate nothing new had occurred and watched as Varric slouched back, a look of worry creasing his brow. Bull leaned over to clap a giant hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and Varric nodded his thanks, mumbling something about needing a drink. The two excused themselves and set out to see if they could find anything that’d pass as alcoholic that might dull the shock of the evening’s events.

With the dwarf and Qunari gone, he was left with Rylen and Blackwall, who were both already snoring, as well as Dorian and Solas, who both sat reading in the dim light of a cracked lantern. Suddenly, he realized Cole was nowhere to be seen. And, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen him since the few desperate moments after the dragon appeared.

“Solas,” Cullen said, “have you seen Cole?”

The man in question paused but didn’t look up, his brow creasing as he considered the question. Slowly, he raised his eyes and met Cullen’s gaze, his voice somewhat more hesitant and reserved than usual. “Not since he left with you to prevent the Herald from being overrun.”

They shared a deeply concerned look for a moment, the silence stretching between them for several agonizing beats as both considered what might’ve become of their off-beat companion.

“He’s a spirit,” Solas said. “It takes a focused effort to kill one. Surely he’s lingering about…somewhere.”

The mage’s theory did little to assuage his fears but it was at least an answer.

“Pardon my curiousness, but did you just say the young man—.” Dorian paused, frowning as if he were struggling to remember what he looked like. Cullen chortled under his breath at this and began unbuckling himself from his armor while he waited for the mage to continue. “The one with the hat, I believe? Yes. I’m sure of it…I think. At any rate, did I hear you correctly? He’s a spirit?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “T’is a long story and one best told when I am better rested.”

“How interesting!” Dorian said. His grey-green eyes twinkled with delight as he pondered Solas’ words, clearly intrigued by the thought of a spirit – not a demon – outside of the Fade. After a moment he nodded and cordially conceded to speak of it another time. “Yes, of course.”

His armor finally off, Cullen laid back to stare at the canvas roof of their tent. Where could she be? She swore she’d come back. These two thoughts had dogged him since he’d led the survivors through the mountain pass only hours ago. As he recalled telling Sera to shoot the flaming arrow, signaling they were safe, he felt his stomach lurch with regret and sorrow. Could she be dead? Buried under the very avalanche that’d saved him? No, he couldn’t bear to think of it. He’d just found her…they’d nearly expressed their love for one another only hours ago. He _couldn’t_ lose her. Not now.

He draped an arm over his eyes, hoping that, perhaps, with the added shade he’d find sleep easier. Somewhere, the little voice in the back of his mind cackled with laughter. Sleep would either be impossible or he’d be plagued by nightmares of Mnemyn dying. Suddenly, he was dragged from his thoughts by Solas’ voice.

“I shall look for her in the Fade.”  His voice was quieter now, heavy with sleep, but still held compassion. Clearly, if the stoic elf could see how worried he was, everyone knew. When had he begun to wear his heart on his sleeve?

“Thank you, Solas.”

Without anything else to do, he began to recite the Canticle of Andraste hoping that, somehow, the Maker’s Bride would hear him and shield her Herald from harm.

The following morning, Cullen awoke to a heavy sensation on his chest. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find two things: his world worn chess board and, on top of it, one of Adan’s headache tonics. He felt a surge of gratitude and smiled at the thoughtful gesture.  _Thank you_ , _Cole._

“Satinalia came early, I see.” Varric said.

“Hm?”

“Cole left something of sentimental value for you?” Cullen looked up to see Varric sitting cross legged to his left, his reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he busily wrote something in his weather beaten journal. He hadn’t had the glasses, nor that particular journal; not since Haven. Cullen nodded, his sleep addled brain finally catching up with his friend’s meaning.

“Yes, my childhood chessboard; my sister sent it back with Mnemyn after Therinfal. I…thought it burned with Haven,” he said. “I take it he found your glasses?”

“And apparently all the drafts of the novels I was working on. The kid’s all right.” He yawned and sat his work aside before pushing to his feet. “Think I’m going to see if we have breakfast.”

Cullen nodded to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Probably porridge.”

He chuckled as he heard Varric swearing under his breath; Varric _hated_ porridge. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of their tent somehow amazed he could still laugh after what had occurred the day before. Even having slept a few hours, he still felt tired and, somehow, older. Clearly, exhaustion was taking its toll on him. From outside the tent, he heard Varric yelp, his foot striking something substantial.

“What idiot put this damned chest here?”

A second later, Cullen heard the lock pop open – Varric had picked it, of course – and seemed to be rummaging through it. A moment after that, he poked his head back through the tent flaps a folded slip of parchment in hand. He grinned and waved it at him impishly. “There’s a note with your name on it. You have a secret admirer you never told me about, Curly?”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he dragged himself out of his bedroll to follow Varric outside. Immediately he regretted not stopping to pull on at least his leather tunic, shivering in the frigid morning air. Varric pressed the note into his hand before ducking back into the tent, reappearing with Cullen’s cold weather cloak a second later. Cullen started at him and the cloak for several beats, blinking.

“Well, go on. Take it,” Varric said, “Y’know friends do these sorts of things for each other…. I swear, I can’t honestly begin to imagine how you or the Seeker, for that matter, managed to go through life like this.”

He shook his head and turned back to the trunk, fishing out a tome which looked as though it belonged to Solas and tucked it under his arm. “Oh and ‘thank you’ is usually something you say when someone does something nice for you….”

“Sorry,” Cullen murmured, shrugging into the garment. “Thank you, Varric.”

Over his shoulder, the dwarf gave him a crooked grin and returned to rummaging through the chest while Cullen opened the letter. It was written in a loopy, almost child-like script and immediately he recognized its tempo seemed to mimic the way Cole spoke. It took him a few tries, but eventually he more or less understood what Cole had attempted to tell him through this the rambling, punctuation bereft note. Varric turned to look over his shoulder at him and, upon seeing him smiling arched a brow in curiosity. “You know, when you smile I get nervous.”

Cullen shot him a bland look before tucking the note into his back pocket. “The same could be said about you, Varric.”

He laughed and shook his head. “True enough. So what did Cole say exactly?”

Completely unsurprised though rather curious as to just exactly how he knew it was from Cole, he decided to ask. “And how do you know it wasn’t from … someone else?”

“I’ve been teaching him to write, Curly,” Varric said, “I know what his handwriting looks like.”

“You’re teaching him wha—nevermind. I don’t want to know,” he said.

Suddenly, Cullen realized something and made a thoughtful noise. “So that’s what he was doing.”

“Pardon?”

“As we were running back from the trebuchet, I heard Seggrit calling for help. He was in the Herald’s cottage for some reason and he’d been trapped by the fire so, naturally, I ran to his rescue. Judging by the items he had clutched to his chest, I believe he’d been looting. At any rate, as we were about to make the doorway, I heard something scraping on the floor behind us and turned to see Cole dragging Mnemyn’s trunk.”

“So while we were evacuating…”

“…he was rescuing treasured items.”

“My guess is he heard many people lamenting over leaving things behind and sought to help,” said Solas.

Both he and Varric stilled, staring at one another in shock at the sudden entrance into their conversation.

“My apologies,” Solas said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re fine. Just didn’t hear you coming is all,” Varric said, “You’d make a good bard for as quiet as you are, you know that, Chuckles?”

Cullen had to turn his head and cough into his hand to hide a laugh at the nickname he’d given their deeply sober companion. In doing so, he was reminded of the last time he’d attempted to hide a laugh and had bruised several ribs in the process; with three already bruised from the trebuchet explosion, he was suddenly very thankful he wasn’t wearing his armor for once.  
  
“I believe I’ve heard the complaint a time or two,” Solas said. Cullen couldn’t quite tell, Solas’ expression had remained neutral, but he thought he heard a bit of mirth in the elf’s voice.

Varric shrugged and return to rummaging through the trunk, eventually finding something. He stood and passed a beautiful leather bound tome with the symbol of the Grey Wardens on the cover to him. “Isn’t this the book you bought for Her Worship?”

“Does no one keep secrets anymore?”

Varric snorted and, this time, even Solas laughed at his question. “Curly, you live with a Qunari spy, a woman whose title is Seeker of Truth, two Orlesian trained bards and me. I’m not exactly sure why you think there’s any illusion of privacy…”

Cullen sighed, defeated. He ran his fingers over the cover, remembering the night he’d given Mnemyn this gift. For a brief moment he smiled, nostalgia warming his heart until the pang of longing and loss, which he refused to admit - she was _not_ dead, wiped it all away.

“Hey, we’re going to find her.”

“The chances of doing so—,” he began to say angrily. He caught himself, though, and realized he was taking his frustration out on Varric. Despite his many faults, Varric had been a good friend to him even when he really hadn’t deserved such kindness. The dwarf had been incredibly kind and patient with him as of late – especially since the siege the day before – and Cullen immediately felt awful for raising his voice. “Varric, I’m so sorr—.”

“Don’t apologize,” Varric said firmly but kindly. He turned to face him, both shaking his head and gesturing that he’d heard enough. “We’re not giving in that easily. You know as well as I do, she’s out there and she’s looking for you. For us. And she's too stubborn to give up and so are we.”

“I can confirm that, Commander,” Solas said. Cullen immediately turned to him, swallowing his fear and doubt as he waited for the mage to elaborate. “As I said, I looked for her the Fade while I slept. And, although I didn’t find her, I could sense her presence. My friends tell me they’ve seen her, burning brightly as ever—perhaps even more so than usual. She’s alive, Commander. Hope is not yet lost.”

Cullen nodded stiffly and mumbled his thanks before turning to look in the direction of Haven for several minutes. They fell into silence for quite some time before he heard Varric make a thoughtful noise. He glanced over as the dwarf bent down to snatch something from the trunk. A book. “How in blazes did a copy of the _Carmenum di Amatus_ end up in Haven?”

Cullen’s eyes went wide and he snatched the book out of the dwarf’s hands. “Hey!”

Varric regarded him with a mildly annoyed look before his expression turned to one of surprise—almost shock. “…wait, that’s not _your_ copy is it, Curly?”

“No! Why would you even think— _how_ could you even consider it belonged to me? I-I would never!”

“For someone who’s attempting to profess his innocence, you sound incredibly guilty, Commander,” Solas said archly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Cullen stared at the elf in shock.

Both he and Varric began to chuckle which slowly built to a hearty laugh and one loud enough that it drew the Seeker’s attention. Cullen looked up to see she’d been speaking with Dorian nearby and was now glaring suspiciously at Varric. She made her apologies to the Altus and then marched toward them, her brows furrowed and jaw set.

“What has he done _this_ time?”

“Nothing dastardly, Seeker, I swear,” Varric said. “We were just teasing the Commander about his choice of reading material.”

Varric attempted to hide the book behind his back but Cassandra was surprisingly quick and managed to snatch it from his hand. Her eyes flew open wide upon reading the cover. Her cheeks were burning red; the blush had even spread all the way to the tips of her ears. Cullen didn’t even think it was possible to embarrass her and stood staring at her in surprise. “The _Carmenum di Amatus?_ Commander I…had no idea—I…I apologize!”

As she shoved it into his hands he shook his head, flushing a deep crimson. “It’s _not_ mine, Cassandra.”

“Then to whom does it belong, Commander?”

“I’m not at liberty to say…exactly.”

She regarded him with a suspicious look for a moment but then seemed to decide he’d not lied to her before and let it drop. “I caution you… that particular book of poetry is banned by the Chantry, Commander, t’would be best to keep such things to ourselves.”

He heard Varric sniggering behind him. Even Solas seemed to find the situation amusing. Cullen cleared his throat and nodded, his cheeks burning crimson. “Noted, Seeker. Thank you.”

“Yes, of course. I…should go….” Cassandra nodded stiffly to the three of them and then bolted for elsewhere, moving as though the darkspawn were chasing her.

“Yes,” Cullen agreed as she retreated, turning to glare at Varric. “I believe we all have better things to do right now.”

Still chortling, Varric strolled off in the direction of the main campfire – probably resuming his waylaid hunt for breakfast – tossing wicked grins at him from across camp now and again. Cullen groaned, and retreated to the confines of their tent to dress for the day. If this was any indication what the next few days would be like, he realized he’d require every ounce of patience he could muster to get through it.


	24. In from the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald finds the Inquisition at last and, while Cullen is overjoyed to see her, he and the others soon realize not only is she half-frozen to death but also badly injured.

_The Frostback wilderness, Firstfall 29, Dragon 9:41_

In the wake of Haven, the days seemed to bleed into one another as the remnants of the Inquisition struggled through the wilderness in search of a sanctuary. Cullen kept sending troops to regularly sweep behind them with the instructions to leave clear signs of their passing. Much to his chagrin, each time his patrols returned with no news of Mnemyn.

By the end of the first full day after the siege, the soldiers Cullen had dispatched to Haven returned with several make-shift sleds full of supplies and a few survivors who’d hidden in the Chantry after the bulk of the Inquisition fled. Upon being questioned, they revealed that a young man had guided them there but none could not recall what he looked like. Apparently Cole had been rather busy after they’d left.

Cullen questioned them sharply as to the Herald’s whereabouts as Mother Giselle set about warming and feeding them in front of the great campfire in the center of camp. No one had seen her. It was if she’d completely disappeared. Josephine, who’d been speaking quietly to Vivienne nearby, stopped speaking upon hearing the news. From the look on her face, it was clear she feared Mnemyn was dead.

 _No_ , he thought, _she couldn’t have perished. She promised me she’d come back._

Because they’d spent most of the day marching, upon finding a suitable campsite it took little time to get everyone settled they were so exhausted. Cullen remarked that Leliana had done an exceptionally good job finding this location shielded as it was from the elements by a deep, u-shaped copse of trees. They were very fortunate she’d been so thorough, too, because by dusk heavy, snow laden clouds rolled in and Cullen warned everyone to batten down for a rough night.

Sure enough, they were beset by a fearsome early winter blizzard, the likes he hadn’t seen since he was a child. Few people strayed from their tents that night and even Cullen was forced to remain inside. He and the rest of the men somberly sat reading or chatting quietly amongst themselves until lights out.

* * *

 

In the early evening of what he thought was the third day – Cullen was so tired he wasn’t sure how many days they’d been walking – another storm blew in to batter them, dropping nearly half a meter of snow before midnight. Unsurprisingly, the advisors and Cassandra were awake and had gathered around the makeshift planning table in order to, apparently, quarrel over whether or not they should send a search party after Mnemyn.

Cullen listened with half interest, his mind wandering tiredly. His usual stubble had grown into nearly a full beard, in part due to losing his razor and but also because he just didn’t give a damn right now, and he had developed dark, almost ochre, circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His worry over Mnemyn’s whereabouts coupled with his usual workaholic nature had driven him nearly to the point of collapse.

Not that anyone noticed. Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine were also functioning on about as little or only slightly more sleep than he’d been getting. Thankfully, their respective second in commands and assistants – Rylen, James, Kayleigh, Charter, and Collette – worked diligently to make sure they ate and slept because, as Cullen suspected, the four of them may have worked themselves to exhaustion had they not.

As Leliana and Cassandra continued to shout insults and angry retorts at one another, his youngest aid, Kayleigh, skittered into his peripheral vision carrying a mug of tea. He smiled tiredly and accepted it with a grateful nod. Once they were out of this mess, he’d have to make it a priority to work on earning the young woman’s trust – she was positively terrified of him and that just wouldn’t do.

“As I said before, Cassandra, we cannot spare anyone for a search party – especially not in this storm,” Leliana said sharply, “I am sorry. The Herald is a capable, resourceful woman—”

“What if she is injured and cannot make her way back?” Cassandra shouted back at her. It was clear from the way her voice cracked she wasn’t merely upset, she was deeply worried and furious with Leliana, likely for not showing more sympathy. Cullen turned to see tears standing in the Seeker’s eyes which, in truth, didn’t surprise him overmuch. He imagined she and Mnemyn had become quite close these last eight months and the fact that Cassandra was exhausted probably was adding fuel to the fire, so to speak. “We simply cannot leave her to freeze on the mountain, can we?”

“Please Leliana, she risked her life to save us,” Josephine pleaded, “Surely we may send just a few scouts?”

“And who will go to rescue them when they inevitably become lost in the storm? There will be no one left—”

“Enough!” Cullen shouted.

Immediately, he could feel all three women’s eyes upon him but didn’t spare them a look. Slowly, he began to sit his half-drunk mug of tea down, his eyes transfixed on the mountain path, almost missing the table entirely; if it hadn’t been for Leliana’s quick hands, it’d have spilled. Both Josephine and Cassandra had begun to ask what was wrong he motioned for the trio of women to quiet themselves in answer, squinting into the darkness. After a moment to consider what he was seeing, he murmured a reply. “I believe that won’t be necessary.”

“Commander, we’ve been over this! We cannot in good conscience send anyone—” Leliana began to object automatically. Before she could finish, Cullen pointed off into the distance and took off running, yelling his answer over his shoulder. “There! Yes! _It’s her!_ ”

He darted out of the firelight and was sprinting, as best he could through knee deep snow, up the mountainside. Cassandra was right on his heels and gasped as she saw a figure standing at the top of the hill above them. “Thank the Maker!”

As he half ran, half waded up the slope, he saw Mnemyn, exhausted and cold to the bone, sink down to her knees in the snow. A wave of relief surged through him; she’d finally found the camp and was safe. As he drew near, he saw her heave a heavy sigh of relief and began to wobble as if she were about to pass out. He watched helplessly as her fluttered closed, her head bowed as though in sleep and Cullen felt as though he couldn’t breathe. _Maker, please let her be all right._  
  
He redoubled his efforts, sweat trickling down his back from his struggle against the deep snow, and within a few seconds, he’d closed the distance between them. As he came within arm’s reach of her, he nearly threw himself to his knees and skidded to stop in front of her.

“Mnemyn, I have you, you’re safe,” Cullen murmured as he knelt in front of her. She mumbled something incoherently as she weakly reached for him weakly and then fell forward, exhausted. Instantly, he caught her by the shoulders. “Hold on, please… just hold on…”

By now, Cassandra had caught up to him. She knelt in the snow beside him and they shared a brief look of deep concern. “Is she breathing? I…don’t see…”

His heart in his throat, all he could manage was a nod in reply. Thinking quickly, he leaned her forward and balanced her gingerly against his chest so he could shrug out of his cloak. Realizing what he meant to do, Cassandra reached to steady Mnemyn and then helped him wrap the fur trimmed garment snuggly around her. He nodded his thanks to her and, as gingerly as he could manage, he swept Mnemyn into his arms and rose to his feet.

As he did so, Cassandra placed a gentle hand to cradle her head, to protect her from injury. He was glad to see she’d thought to do so because Mnemyn’s head began to loll to the side as he stood and surely would’ve hit some part of his armor. Gently, she sat the Herald’s head on his shoulder and he thanked her quietly. The Seeker gave him a tired smile in return, nodded smartly and then took off like a shot down the mountain, intent on arranging help as he carried her to camp.

Wasting no time, he darted down the hill after her as fast as he could manage with his precious cargo, trying to retrace his steps in the deep snow so he could move a little faster. Suddenly, he felt Mnemyn shift in his arms and looked down to see if she was all right. Her eyes were open just a fraction and were focused on his face. Smiling very slightly and reached up to run her gloved fingers along his jaw. “A beard? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not,” he said.

“’s charming…” she said. Her words were slurred, nearly unintelligible, which he knew was not a good sign. Cullen felt bile rising in his throat now and watched as she smiled briefly before her eyes flitted shut again. After that, she went completely boneless and Cullen realized she’d passed out. _Definitely not good_ , he thought as he hurried toward camp, swearing as he almost tripped in a particularly deep drift.

It had been three days since the avalanche; how she’d managed not to succumb to the elements, he did not know. He suspected it had something to do with her connection to winter magic but didn’t spare it much more thought than that. She was alive and that was all that mattered to him. He had to get her to the healers as fast as he could and thus he focused every ounce of energy and stamina toward that end.  
  
“Get blankets!” he heard Cassandra bellow as she ran down the hill. “Rouse the healers! Hot water! Where’s that damnable golden, bejeweled tub? Someone fetch it! Go, move! NOW!”

As he drew nearer to the firelight, he stole another quick glance down at her and felt his chest tighten. Mnemyn was pale, almost ashen, and was covered in a thick crust of snow. There were ice crystals in her eyebrows, lashes, and hair and he could see tears frozen on her cheeks. His heart clenched and he whispered another plea to both the Maker and Andraste, begging them for help.

Another few steps and he could see her lips were blue and her breathing had slowed dramatically. If Cullen wasn’t already deeply concerned for her, now he felt an incalculable sense of foreboding grow in his gut and it was this that propelled him onward toward the nearest fire as quickly as his now frozen legs would allow. Cassandra, still several paces ahead of him, was marshalling people to prepare a space for the Herald.

While he waited to be told where to take her, he stood near the great fire in the center of camp – not too close, fearing too much heat too soon would hurt her – and stood staring helplessly as she lay limply in his arms. Leliana appeared at his side and tucked a blanket around Mnemyn and then one around him for good measure to which he nodded his thanks. Leliana gave him a deeply sympathetic look before turning to hurry off toward the tent where the healers had begun to gather. He could feel many sets of eyes on him now and looked up to see their friends gathered not far away, each one looking on with various degrees of concern and for some, fright.

Sera looked the worst of all. He could see her bottom lip quivering and tears standing in her eyes. Sera shrank back scowling when she realized he’d seen her crying. Angrily she wiped away her tears and shoved through the crowd, tossing insults angrily as she fled for anywhere but here. He and Varric shared a look and the dwarf turned to say something to the Iron Bull who, after a moment, nodded and retreated in the direction Sera’d gone.

If Cullen already didn’t feel awful, seeing the looks on their faces made him feel worse. Far worse. He watched as Josephine had to turn away, her hand clamped over her mouth in an attempt to muffle a sob. Surprisingly, Blackwall turned to gently comfort her. Even more surprising was that she accepted his attentions and the Grey Warden led her off, probably to have a mug of tea. Cullen sighed and glanced in the direction Cassandra had gone and, blessedly, at nearly that exact moment, the Seeker reappeared to poke her head out of the tent and waved him over.

As soon as he’d stepped over the threshold of the makeshift hospital tent, he was surrounded by a great press of people. Mother Giselle, Leliana and Grand Enchanter Fiona stood to his right while Cassandra, Vivienne, and Healer Ellendra stood to his left. There were hands everywhere now. Cassandra snatched away the blanket Leliana had tucked around her only minutes ago. Grand Enchanter Fiona and Vivienne began to gingerly divest Mnemyn of her gloves while Mother Giselle and Ellendra prepared bandages and potions off to the side.

“We must warm her slowly!” he heard Fiona say.

“ _Here!_ Put her here, Commander!” Cassandra hollered as she and Leliana guided him to an unfolded camp cot nearby. He did as they’d asked and, no sooner than Mnemyn was free of his arms, Cassandra and Leliana, their faces set in determination, began attempting to remove the Herald’s armor. After a few seconds of fighting literally frozen buckles, Cassandra swore and reached for her belt, drawing the utility dagger she kept there and began to cut the leather straps, throwing the pieces over her shoulder.

Suddenly, he was aware he was being gently bustled out of the tent by none other than Mother Giselle. He tried to argue, “I can be of some assistance, Revered Mother. I have cold weather training—”

And then he realized why she was sending him away. Leliana reached to sit Mnemyn’s limp, nearly lifeless body forward to rest against her shoulder allowing Cassandra access to first pull his cloak and then the Herald’s coat and chainmail shirt away. As she did so, he saw her under tunic was soaked with blood.

“Maker’s breath…” he gasped. “Mnemyn!”

“Someone hand me some sheers. We must get this off of her now!” Cassandra said. From the quiver in her voice, Cullen could tell she was frightened or, at the very least deeply troubled. She looked up briefly to see him still standing in the tent flaps and frowned. “Mother Giselle, it may not be wise for Commander Cullen to be here for this…”

Cullen stood as though he were affixed to the spot and did not move, his eyes wide with concern. He watched as both Fiona and Healer Ellendra began to cut the shirt away. Beneath it, they found the wound Fiona’d given Mnemyn during the fight at the upper trebuchet had been healed and was clearly the source of some of the blood but, as they began to peel the shirt away, they found another, far worse wound on her other side. Even from where he stood, he could see that the blood seemed to have frozen in the wound, almost acting as a natural bandage of sorts, and may have been the only reason she was still alive.

He lurched forward frowning, with the intent on going to his beloved’s side. The elder cleric, however, still stood in his path and she also refused to move.

“Commander, please!” Mother Giselle said. She braced her hands on the placket of his breastplate and leaned forward in an attempt to block his path. Cullen stared helplessly at Mnemyn, a lump forming in his throat.

“But, I…” he said weakly in protest.

But the Revered Mother gently shushed him. “You have done so much all ready, Commander. Please, you do not wish to be here for this. She is in good hands. When she’s been tended to, the Seeker will come for you. Now please. Let us work.”

He swallowed hard and nodded numbly allowing her to finally bustle him outside. She gave him an apologetic smile before retreating back into the tent.

Cullen stood there for several moments, his heart in his throat as he stared helplessly as the tent flaps. He felt dazed and unspeakably lonely all of the sudden. After a moment, he sensed someone standing nearby and turned to see Varric watching him with great concern. It took a few tries but, eventually, Varric coaxed him over to the fire where he had been sitting with Dorian. “She’s going to be okay, Curly. Cassandra’s not going to let anything happen to her.”

He sat down numbly, still staring at the tent. The dwarf pressed a mug of something warm into his hands and he found himself staring at him blankly.

“You’re in shock,” Varric told him, “have a drink.”

Cullen glanced down at the mug and then cast a mildly suspicious look at Varric. “It’s just tea. My mother always said tea was the beverage for a crisis.”

Cullen smiled slightly, remembering how his own mother made tea when he was sick or frightened as a child. “My mother’s been known to say something similar.”

“Not mine,” Dorian quipped. “She’d have given you a glass of brandy. You look as though you could use one.”

With an artful flourish, the mage quickly produced a flask, seemingly from nowhere, and offered it to Cullen. He considered it for only the briefest of moments before he shook his head. “No, thank you. I believe the tea will do.”

“Suit yourself,” Dorian said. He looked up to see him smirking in a most satisfied manner. Clearly he’d meant to be snarky, and the Tevinter smiled in a very satisfied manner as he twisted off the flask’s cap and took a generous swig before passing the flask to Varric.

A tense hour later, Cassandra and Leliana emerged from the Herald’s tent. Cullen shot to his feet, expectation and fear swirling nauseatingly in his gut. “Is she…all right?”  
  
“She is … resting comfortably,” Cassandra said. From her awkward and hesitant tone, he gathered either she wasn’t being completely truthful or there was something unpleasant she needed to tell him.

“We have bundled her in furs and she is sleeping soundly,” Leliana murmured quietly. Cullen could tell there was the slightest undertone of regret in the spymaster’s voice. Idly, he wondered if she was blaming herself for not sending scouts. “Her injuries could have been far worse.”

“Mother Giselle says she is extremely fortunate, she suffered no real lasting frostbite. I suspect that may have something to do with her being a winter mage.” Cassandra told them as she sank into the seat beside him.

“But?”  
  
“It is too early to tell if there will be any lasting consequences from the wound we found,” Cassandra said. “We think she had at least one remaining healing potion and that is why the one she sustained during the fight was healed.

“We found glass in her pockets; remnants of potion bottles. I believe she may have fallen at some point and, on impact, the potions smashed.”

“It is also possible that the wound was healed by the smashed potions. That might account for why one wound was healed and the other was not,” Leliana said quietly. She closed her eyes a moment tiredly, upon opening them smiled as Varric pressed a warm mug of tea into her hands. “Thank you, Messere.”

“The Revered Mother has called the Iron Bull to sit with her,” Cassandra said. “She and Grand Enchanter Fiona believe body heat will help warm her more thoroughly.”

“Yes,” Cullen agreed, “that’s a wise strategy. Warming her slowly will prevent further, lasting damage to her limbs.”

Varric now passed Cassandra a steaming mug and, before she could question what it was, he said in a somewhat exasperated tone, “It’s just tea, Seeker. I feel slightly maligned and definitely hurt that you’d think I’d do something to your beverage.”

Cassandra still seemed suspicious and took a tentative sip. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when it seemed she found not only was he telling the truth but that Varric made a good cup of tea. Cullen saw her resume scowling, however, and knew she’d never admit it to the dwarf. They’d never hear the end of it if she did.

* * *

 

In the wake of Mnemyn’s arrival, an air of despair settled over the quiet camp. The injured and the dying called for succor while children and adults alike quietly sobbed over lost loved ones. Varric, who’d been everyone’s strength that evening, eventually turned in looking ashen and drawn. Clearly, the evening had taken its toll on even him. Sera was still nowhere to be seen. Blackwall returned to the fire sometime later looking forlorn. He told him he’d seen Lady Montilyet to her tent and that their ambassador was still deeply saddened. After several gloomy moments at the campfire, Blackwall excused himself saying someone ought to chop firewood.

Vivienne seemed to be the only one of them not somber. Though Cullen could tell by the way she’d stayed away from the fire and had been working with the injured, that she was doing so in an effort to deal with the situation in her own way. He sighed tiredly and, when he turned his attention back to the fire, he saw Dorian had begun to drink himself into a stupor. Deciding he could stand to sit idle no longer, he walked off to find something to keep himself occupied.

He found himself pacing outside Mnemyn’s tent sometime later, wracked with indecision. Should he go in? Or should he just let her rest? While he knew Iron Bull had no interest in her, he felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the Qunari had been chosen to sit with her. Realistically, he did indeed have the most mass and, thus, generated a decent amount of body heat. Finally, deciding he’d regret it later if he didn’t go in, he pushed his way through the tent flaps.

Bull tipped him a slight nod. Mnemyn lay under a heap of furs and blankets huddled against the Qunari’s broad chest. Cullen could only see her face from the tip of her nose to her forehead.

“I thought you were gonna stand out there all night.”

“How—has she been?”

“Well enough I suppose, still really freaking cold, though. She feels like a damned icicle,” Bull said. Smirking he tipped his head slightly in Mnemyn’s direction. “Been sleeping mostly, though she’s been mumbling your name occasionally.”

Cullen felt all at once mortified and elated.

“You uh, mind switching with me?”

“I—yes,” Cullen stammered.

“Thanks,” Bull said. When Cullen made to help him get up, he nodded to his armor and frowned. “You’re gonna want to take all that off.”

“Yes…I am familiar with… ah, cold weather exposure…” Feeling incredibly awkward, he reached back to rub the tension from his neck. _Maker, I’m making a mess of this._ Sensing his disquiet, Bull spoke up again in a deeply soothing tone.

“Relax, Commander, she’s not going to bite.”

“I know.”

Bull snorted and gave him a sardonic smile to which Cullen responded by rolling his eyes. Without another word, he began unbuckling the many clasps of his armor. After the last few hours, he realized it felt mildly cathartic to be doing something mundane and familiar – even if it meant taking off the one thing that made him feel safe.

Once he’d finished and his armor lay stacked neatly nearby, he stripped out of his leather jerkin, leaving only his soft woolen under tunic. He turned to see Bull smirking, most likely about to comment that he’d not taken off his last shirt, so to steer the conversation away from that uncomfortable and highly personal topic, he changed the subject.

“You’ve had weather conditioning as part of your training I presume?”

“Yes, we Qunari are nothing if not thorough.”

“What’s your best guess on how she fares?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Bull said, “The boss’s attunement to frost magic helped shield her from the brunt of exposure, hypothermia and frostbite, and she’s clever enough to take care of herself in the wilds. Cassandra and I’ve seen to that.”

“You’ve been training her?” he asked, incredulous.

“Sort of,” Bull said. “Not anything so overt. Just little things over time. We thought it best to prepare her should something like this ever occur.”

Cullen suddenly felt incredibly stupid for not having thought of this himself. Again, as if he’d read his mind, the Qunari spoke. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You’re training an entire army, overseeing the boss’s maneuvers, as well as dealing with your own crap. You can’t be everywhere and do everything, you know.”

Cullen nodded weakly, his eyes fixed on Mnemyn’s sleeping form as he began to worry the Qunari knew his secret.

“You know, Cullen,” Bull said, “A lot of people – the boss included – care about you. You needn’t shoulder it all yourself.”

“I’m not sure what you’re—”

“You can’t lie to a liar, Commander,” the Qunari said grinning.

“How long have you known?”

“A while now.”

They shared a look for a moment – Cullen’s one of surprise and Bull’s one of quiet respect. Cullen nodded to indicate he understood. He supposed he shouldn’t be terribly surprised Bull had picked up on his struggles with quitting lyrium; the man was a spy after all and a damn good one. “I, yes… well. Thank you.”

In an attempt to change the subject, Cullen began to help Bull free himself from the tangle of Mnemyn and her many blankets and furs. He was surprised to see how delicately and deliberately Bull moved. Bull grinned as he got to his feet and clapped Cullen on the shoulder. “Ben Hassrath training and don’t worry about it. The Seeker and I’ve got yours and the boss’s back. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I’ve got to take a piss something fierce.”

Cullen snorted at the Qunari’s crass comment and watched as he retreated through the tent flaps. Bull was many things and, despite his often vulgar comments and sometimes tactless behavior, Cullen ranked him amongst one of the most decent people he’d ever known. Strange and somewhat sad that more humans didn’t follow Bull’s example. Brushing the thought away, Cullen quickly and efficiently seated himself before pulling Mnemyn gently into his arms.

She was so tired she barely noticed that he’d replaced the Iron Bull. She murmured a little in protest at being jostled but settled comfortably against his side soon enough. She was shivering – a good sign, which meant her body was still trying to keep warm and wasn’t shutting down – and immediately huddled closer to him for warmth. He smiled at this and watched as she pillowed her head on his chest. He sighed contentedly and, as the warmth of the nearby brazier as well as the many layers of furs and blankets seeped into his tired muscles, Cullen soon found himself also drifting off to sleep.


	25. In between dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen watches over Mnemyn as she sleeps and, despite a bad situation, they manage to find some happiness. And, although they don't specifically discuss their relationship, events of the last few days coupled with their close proximity to one another inevitably moves their relationship forward. (Finally!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, it turns out my editor will not have much time in the next few weeks to look over the drafts. But, that's okay because he's coming home early!!
> 
> That said, I didn't want to make you all wait two-ish weeks for an update so I've done my best to edit this. I warn you, it might not be up to our usual standard, and in the event I've done a poor job at editing this chapter, it will be updated once he's able to look it over. :)
> 
> This chapter is M for Mature due to there being some adult situations. ;)

_The Frostback wilderness, Haring 2, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen awoke sometime later with a yawn, utterly unsure how long he’d been asleep. Judging by the light – or lack there of – outside, it still appeared to be nighttime. Mnemyn shifted in his arms murmuring softly as she, too, began to wake up. After a moment, she stilled and he heard a gasp. Another moment ticked by and she prodded his side experimentally. “Y-you’re not, Bull…”

“That is a true thing you say…”

“M-maker’s breath, Cullen!” she said. Surging forward, she hugged him tightly and, as she put pressure on his bruised ribs, he made a strangled noise as he struggled to suppress a grunt. “H-how were you hurt?”

“Ahhh, well…” he said.

“ _C-cullen_.”

“After that damnable dragon blew up the western trebuchet.”

“I-I _kn-new_ it,” she said, sounding vindicated. “You said—”

“I said I was fine, Mnemyn, and still am,” he said, “its just some bruising, nothing more. Would you have proceeded to rescue two dozen people from certain death had you known I was injured?”

“I—I guess maybe…” she began. Cullen made a thoughtful noise to let her know he knew she was fibbing, and she let out a sigh before she conceded her defeat. “…probably not….”

“Mmhmm. I’ll be fine,” he said. The matter closed, he smiled and proceeded to tuck her under his chin while closing his eyes for a moment while he enjoyed holding her. In the silence that followed, he said a prayer of thanks to both Andraste and the Maker for reuniting them. “And so will you…thank the Maker.”

“T-this was t-too close f-for comfort,” she said. “I th-thought I’d n-never s-see you again.”

“But here we are, you and I,” he said quietly. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders before pressing a tender kiss into her hair. “We needn’t speak of such things now. Just save your strength and rest.”

“A-and s-soak up y-your warmth?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

They sat in silence for some time, listening to the fire crackling in the brazier nearby. Cullen watched as Mnemyn burrowed a little deeper into the covers and then stilled.

“Is th-there a reason why I’m not wearing my tunic?”

Cullen straightened as the memory of that moment hit him. He was hyperaware of how Mnemyn was watching his reaction and sighed, dropping his gaze to a point off to her left. Cassandra’s words came back to him now, _Her injuries could have been far worse_. Mnemyn’s voice dragged him back to the present and he sighed heavily knowing there was no way to skirt the question.

“Cullen?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, “you were injured and the shirt was ruined.”

“I’d almost forgotten…,” she said, her voice sounding distant. “How bad?”

“Bad,” he said quietly. Feeling a lump forming in his throat, he continued to look down and away while he composed himself. “Obviously not beyond repair…”

She nodded and then proceeded to shiver violently again. Cullen frowned at this and made a snap decision. Leaning away from her, despite her murmured protest, he reached to peel off his own tunic before offering it to her with a small, apologetic smile.

“Cullen…”

She began to protest but, as his shirt came off, her voice faltered and her eyes went very wide.

“Take it.”

“…”

“Mnemyn?”

He couldn’t quite place the way she was looking at him at first, it’d been quite some time since he’d been ogled so appreciatively. There was also the matter of his ingrained self-doubt which was already, and falsely, informing him she was upset by his sudden half-nakedness. He sighed inwardly and shoved the thought aside.

Over the years, he had noticed appreciative looks from more than a few women he’d encountered but he had rarely acknowledged them. It had more to do with the fact he’d been on duty at the time, he told himself, than anything else. A fib he told himself, obviously. He had little time for dalliances and, also there was the fact that he’d feared that once a woman found out just how deeply troubled and incredibly broken he was, she’d leave.

Quickly, the look of naked appreciation in Mnemyn’s eyes began to change to something more. _Oh Maker…is she really_ —his train of thought was suddenly and utterly derailed as he watched her lips curl into a shy smile. She rocked back to sit on her feet, and, as she moved, the furs in her lap shifted to bare a small but tantalizing stretch of her pale, muscled thigh. He watched as she drew her left hand to her lips, which were now parted slightly, and how she watched him through her lashes. As she continued to admire him, she canted ever so slightly to the right as though she were considering something.

“I—” she said. Again, just as soon as she’d spoken, she stopped. There was an unmistakable breathy, huskiness to her voice which sent a ripple of pleasure down his spine. She was still frozen, seemingly incapable or unwilling to tear her eyes away form his muscled torso. He watched as she visibly shook herself and then scrambled to not only take his proffered tunic but throw off her covers to shimmy into it, leaving him no time to react.

As soon as she drew the covers away and he caught sight of her bare shoulders, Cullen drew in a sharp breath and forcibly dragged his gaze down and away. And, as he did so, got a very good view of her pale abdomen and her narrow waist. He bit back a groan and realized very quickly that looking away really hadn’t done him much good. He was exceedingly well aware of exactly how much of her was uncovered – the sight of her burned into his memory now – which did little to help him tamp down his growing arousal. Also not helping, was the fact that he could still see snatches of pale skin and her breast band in his peripheral vision. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

 _Yes, that’s usually what you’d do with a beautiful woman who clearly wants to fuck you back_ , drawled the voice in his head.

_I’ve had just about enough out of—_

_Yes, yes. Righteous indignation. Your half ere—correction: three quarters erect cock says otherwise._ _You want to make love to her until she’s breathily and reverently moaning your name,_ said the voice. _Just stop lying to yourself already._

Cullen knew the voice was right and scrambled to think of how he could bring the situation back under control. He reasoned that if he could get outside into the frigid evening air, the shock of it should help him regain his faculties. Judging by the way she was looking at him, as though she were about to pounce, he had to move quickly. Now. Then again, if he got up now, she’d be unable to miss his arousal and he ran the risk of hurting her feelings. _Damn it._

_You know, I bet she’s considering—_

_No._

_Look at her,_ said the voice, _that’s a look of pure unadulterated_ want _she’s giving you—_

 _She’s injured and still half frozen_.

_You know as well full well the healers took care of everything. Besides, a good roll in the hay would warm her up._

_Absolutely n—_

Mnemyn’s voice interrupted his mental argument, dragging him out of his head and into the present.

“Cullen?”

“I—what? Did—you need me for…something?” he said. He could feel his palms and forehead covered in a fine, cold sweat and shifted the covers to make sure she couldn’t see his now raging erection.

He looked up to see her crawling toward him, his tunic, clearly too large for her petite frame, hanging low over one shoulder which was revealed a tantalizing swath of cleavage for him to see. Cullen felt what little resolve he had left quickly dissolving. Oh how badly he wanted to pull her into his lap to trail kisses down her jaw and neck to her collar bone before peeling his tunic right off her again.

“I—your—I mean my shirt…”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Mnemyn crawled closer and, grinning wickedly, rose to her knees so she could place her hands gingerly on his shoulders. Staring into his eyes, she licked her lips and he could see hers had darkened with what only could be described as lust. His eyes darted to her lips and he drew in a sharp breath when he saw they were parted; her breaths short and shallow. And, just as he’d done to her in the chantry, she placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned down to draw him into a deep, almost wanton, kiss.

At first, he froze in surprise but, as she ran her tongue across his lips, he groaned and parted them, allowing her tongue access. She swallowed his sigh of contentment as his hands fell to her waist and, wanting to let her guide his actions, chivalrously tried to keep them there. But, as their kiss wound on and the heat rose delectably between them, he soon found himself unable to keep from touching her. He splayed his left hand across the small of her back, drawing her flush with him, and, as her torso pressed against his own, they both moaned in delight – and loudly enough to catch a passerby’s attention.

Mnemyn trailed her hands down to his shoulders and gently leaned back in an attempt to pull him down on top of her. Cullen was all too happy to oblige her and a moment later was pleased to hear her gasping softly as she felt his erection press against her belly. He hesitated, wondering how she’d react and was pleasantly surprised when she gently ground herself against him.

His chin fell to his chest as the sensation nearly overwhelmed him, molten pleasure coiling in his gut. All these months of flirting and wanting what he thought he couldn’t have coupled with her beneath him now, clearly wanting to give herself to him, let something loose inside him. As Cullen growled and leaned down to capture her lips once more, they heard someone approaching quickly and, before either of them could disengage, a familiar, heavily Nevarran accented voice called out to them from just on the other side of the tent flaps.

“Is everything all right in there, Commander?”

At the sound of Cassandra’s voice, both he and Mnemyn froze, their eyes wide with shock. _Fuck._

Cullen gingerly broke their kiss, giving her an apologetic look as he pushed himself up onto his hands. He drew in a serrated breath and, after taking a moment to clear his throat and catch his breath, he attempted to answer the Seeker. “Uh yes, the Herald is… ah…”

Sensing he was floundering, Mnemyn spoke up quickly. “Terribly annoyed to find out her armor’s been completely ruined.”

They heard Cassandra step closer to the tent flaps, clearly intent on discussing or, at the very least, explaining why Mnemyn’s armor had been cut away. Mnemyn ducked under his arms, scrambling for the covers as the Seeker answered her. “Oh—I—Your Worship, I am terribly sorry—,”

“No need to come in!” Cullen blurted out.

There was silence followed by some shuffling about. He imagined she was pacing. And, judging by how quickly she was moving, he could tell she was nervous and, possibly, agitated. Immediately, he realized she knew what they’d been doing. The silence was deafening and he glanced at Mnemyn, wondering if he should attempt to persuade Cassandra to the contrary. Before he could act, however, the Seeker spoke and the hesitant, clearly nervous answer, confirmed Cullen’s fears. “I… well, yes. O-of course. I…I shall go see if Harritt might be able to begin repairs.”

 

He watched as Mnemyn let out a sigh of relief and as he himself was about to sit back down, Cassandra spoke again. It was as though she thought better of her answer and, dropping her voice to a volume just loud enough for them to hear, she gave them a gentle, if not mildly annoyed, warning. “You’d be wise to keep it down. Half the camp will know what you are doing in there.”

When she’d gone, he collapsed onto his back, laughing. Mnemyn joined him on the floor and he pulled her close so he could lean his forehead against hers. They continued to share a laugh for some minutes and, when their amusement finally faded, Cullen let out a sigh. “Maker’s breath…”

“I…I’m sorry Cullen, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re not?”

He gave her an arched look and she blushed when she realized he’d been kissing back with just as much want and desire, if not more so, than she. She smiled sheepishly and sat up, her back to him. “I—I guess this means we should probably ah… talk about what just happened…”

Cullen frowned and pushed himself up to sit beside her. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared into the brazier while he struggled to think of something meaningful to say. She was embarrassed, that much was clear. He felt a knot forming in his stomach and sighed. Cassandra had made a good point. Cullen didn’t want to tarnish Mnemyn’s nor his own reputation and was forced to reluctantly admit to himself that, perhaps, their behavior was inappropriate.

“Perhaps it’s best we…wait to, eh, explore that particular…uhm,” he stammered. _Maker, I am positively making a mess of this._ He knew he was blushing and watched as the corners of Mnemyn’s mouth began to curl into a smile. With a sigh, he reached to rub the tension from back of his neck and collected his thoughts.

“What I mean to say is… Cassandra has a point. Until we find a more permanent shelter, perhaps it’d be best if we, ah, stayed apart.” When she looked mildly he quickly amended his statement. “It’s not that I—don’t want to…that is to say…I-I do but… Maker’s breath…”

“No, it’s all right, I understand…” she said quietly.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he said.

“I’m a mage,” she said glumly.

“No, it has nothing to do with that,” he said, “I would rather not rush into this. I care about you, Mnemyn. Deeply.”

She turned to look at him with surprise, blinking. He smiled and reached to cup her cheek and and he hoped the love reflected in his eyes would not only reinforce what he’d just said but assuage any fears she might have.

“But we barely know one another and there are things…about my past that I want to discuss with you before we go any further.”

“I understand.”

“Thank the Maker.” He smiled and let out a sigh of relief, pulling her into a tender hug. She smiled and stretched up to press a tender kiss to his cheek. He chuckled when she pulled back, crinkling and rubbing her nose. “Problems?”

“I’m unsure I’ll be able to get used to your beard,” she said.

She shifted slightly, resting her head on his shoulder so she could look up at him. Bedraggled as she was, she was still utterly breathtaking. He smiled, staring into her eyes as he watched her reach up to trail her fingers along his jaw.

“For someone professing how much she dislikes it, you seem awfully enamored with it,” he said.

“You mistake my delight at seeing your handsome face for admiration over your almost-beard, Ser.”

“Oh really?” he teased her. “This is at least the second time you’ve commented on it. It would seem to me you rather like it…”

“It’s certainly different,” she said, “but if you shaved it, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Well, I shall have to find a razor,” he said. He was rewarded with a bright smile for a few moments until something seemed to occur to her and her brows furrowed in thought. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to shave every day are you?”

“Why?” he said. 

“I, well, I happen to like it when you haven’t shaved in a few days. Stubble makes you look rugged…and _extremely_ attractive.”

He chuckled softly, feeling the weight of the last few days begin to melt away. Maker, how she lightened his heart. “Then I shall endeavor to maintain said rugged attractiveness for her Ladyship’s sake.”

He lay back, pulling her with him and, as they resumed cuddling under the furs, they fell into a comfortable silence. Listening to Mnemyn hum tunelessly against his shoulder, Cullen began to feel his eyelids grow heavy and, soon, succumbed to the coziness of the moment.

As he hovered somewhere between sleep and consciousness, he realized that, even despite her harried trek through the wilderness and almost succumbing to the elements, her indomitable spirit could not be extinguished. As he lay there, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him – which she was – he idly began to wonder if the brightness of her personality in the waking world was what Cole and Solas referring to when they spoke of how the spirits of the Fade saw her. It was an interesting theory, surely and he mentally noted he’d have to discuss this with Solas later.

* * *

A short time later, he was awakened by movement. Someone, clearly not content with sitting still, was trying her best to stealthily wriggle free of the mass of furs and blankets piled around her as well as his arms. He grinned to himself, remembering what Varric had said about her ability, or lack thereof, to be silent.

As Cullen opened his eyes, he was met with a tantalizing, if not incredibly amusing sight. Mnemyn was stretched precariously across his lap on all fours, reaching for something laying on the floor nearby. He swallowed a chuckle and watched as she twitched her mouth cutely to the side, concentrating on both keeping her balance to attain whatever item lay just out of reach and not waking him. He considered waiting to see if she’d reach her goal but found he was far too amused not to comment.

“Maker’s breath, Mnemyn,” he said. “Can you not sit still even long enough to convalesce?”

His voice startled her and she quickly lost both her concentration and her balance, falling neatly across his lap. Protective reflex, of course, kicked in as she fell, and he had to fight to keep his knees and thighs from jerking up and potentially hurting her as she landed. She lay there for several beats, frozen with a look which was one-part embarrassment and one-part surprise on her face. Cullen chuckled softly and waited for her to right herself.

She lay there a moment longer, probably waiting for the color in her cheeks to fade, drumming her fingers on the floor in front of her. “I…well, I saw a book over there and thought some reading might be n-nice.”

“Reading material in here?” Sure enough, as he glanced in the direction she was looking, a book lay on the floor of tent not a few inches out of her reach. “Odd.”

He twisted and reached for it, easily retrieving it, and, as he drew the book toward him, Mnemyn reached for it. Smirking, he held it over her head and out of her reach before turning the spine toward him. He smiled when he saw the title; it was the Grey Warden book he’d gifted her.

“What is it?”

“It would seem our spirit friend decided you needed some bed-time reading,” he said wryly.

She yawned and, still not bothering to remove herself from his lap, stretched. He watched as she threw her arms in the air and made adorable little mewling sounds which made him smile and chuckle at how cute she was.

“Comfortable?”

“Mm-yes,” she said, “Had I known you were this warm, Cullen, I’d have asked a long time ago to share a—um…you know that sounded much better in my head.”

He arched an eyebrow at her and she grinned sleepily, finally dragging herself from his lap to sit cuddled against his side. Inwardly, he sighed in relief; a few seconds longer and she’d have gotten a bit of a surprise. _Maker’s breath_ , he groused mentally, _it’s as though I’m a young man again_.

 _Is that really so bad?_ said the little voice. _You did kind of get cheated out of those years, you know_.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, he opted to change the subject.

“Perhaps you’d like me to read to you?”

“That’d be wonderful.”

He didn’t make it more than half way through the chapter before she was sleeping soundly again. Smiling, he gently sat the book aside, drew her into his arms and lay down. As Cullen began to drift off, following her into the Fade, he thought it was odd that despite her injury and the stress of the past few days, these last few hours sleeping tangled in one another’s arms had been blissful.  


* * *

  
Later, in the early hours of predawn, he was awoken by someone shaking his shoulder gently. It was Leliana. She smiled at him and leaned close to speak to him so as not to disturb Mnemyn. “I’ve brought you both some porridge and tea. Do you think she’ll be able to eat?”

“Mmm… something smells delightful...,” Mnemyn said. Her voice still heavy with sleep though he could detect no shiver and, as she dragged herself upright – her hair crazily splayed this way and that – yawning, he could see her color had returned some.

Cullen gave the Nightingale a crooked grin. “I think you have your answer.”

“It is good to see you awake, my lady,” Leliana said. She knelt and turned, glancing up at Charter who was in the process of handing her a bowl of steaming porridge. Cullen blinked in surprise; he hadn’t realized anyone else was in the tent. Charter smiled shyly at him and he nodded, smiling in return.

Leliana quietly thanked Charter for her help and indicated she was free to go, before stretching out in a low camp chair near the brazier. She chatted lightly with them as they ate, regaling them with tales of some of the more interesting they’d missed while they were sleeping. Her scouts had retrieved the last of their stores, monies and what few survivors who’d fled into the wilderness in addition to any personal effects that still remained.

“I imagine you’ll want a bath, my lady?”

Mnemyn looked up over her breakfast, which she was in the process of slurping straight from the bowl. When Leliana’s lips began to twitch with a smile, Mnemyn stopped what she was doing and mumbled a plea. “Don’t tell Vivienne.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Yes, a bath would be lovely… although I’ll, uhm, require a new tunic at the very least. Mine seems to have vanished. And, although Ser Cullen has chivalrously given up his only one, I think he’ll need it back.”

“I apologize, Your Worship. It was necessary to cut it away after we found you; you were very badly wounded.”

With Leliana here he realized, judging by how exhausted she looked, that the others had been picking up his slack while he dozed with Mnemyn. A pang of guilt soured his appetite and he sat his bowl aside, moving to get up and get dressed. At Mnemyn’s concerned look, he explained what he intended to do. “I should…probably check on things. With Rylen.”

Mnemyn’s expression went completely neutral and she pursed her lips, staring at the bowl in her lap. “You’ll…come back after, won’t you?”

“We won’t keep him overlong, my lady, I promise,” Leliana said. Cullen shot her a mildly annoyed look and the bard smirked in return. He was suddenly aware Mnemyn was staring at him, her mouth agape.

“Something wrong?”

“No—I’ve just only ever seen you out of your armor that one time we travelled together…”

Recognizing the look she’d given him earlier when she first saw him shirtless, he realized she was fibbing to cover her appreciation of seeing him half-naked, he smiled and decided to tease her a bit. “Perhaps I should endeavor to wear it less?”

“That would be nice,” she admitted shyly.

As he was about to shrug into his leather tunic, when something on the floor near Leliana’s feet caught his attention. It was his duffle bag. “Where’d that come from?”

“Cole, I imagine. Solas says he’s been trying to help in every way he can. Mostly by finding useful or lost things,” Leliana said. She reached over to retrieve it, handing it to him. He dug through the bag and let out a quiet sigh as he retrieved a familiar green tunic. Still tucked inside it was the ring box. _Thank the Maker!_

Digging deeper, he found one of his other tunics and fished it out. “How fortuitous; you needn’t give that back to me just yet.”

Mnemyn, who’d drawn the covers up so she could remove his woolen tunic, stopped wriggling and gave him a lopsided grin. She fished out his tunic and waved it at him, smirking. “So I don’t have to give this back after all?”

“Not if you don’t want to; some of my clothes are in here,” he said. He looked up to see her waving his shirt at him and sucked in a sharp breath as he realized what that meant. _Maker take you, you wicked thing,_ he thought, smiling.

Mnemyn smirked and waggled her eyebrows at him for a moment before she happily pulled the tunic in her hand to her chest. Both he and Leliana watched as she buried her nose in the fabric, grinning so brightly he’d sworn he’d never seen her happier. “I think I’ll keep it.”

“It would seem Her Worship approves,” Leliana said wryly.

“Yes, well,” Cullen said stiffly, coughing into his hand. He turned back to his armor and busied himself with it until his cheeks stopped burning with blush.

“I’ll meet you at the command tent, Commander,” Leliana said. She rose and bowed respectfully to Mnemyn, “I’ll have someone bring in the bathing supplies in a moment, my Lady.”

“Thank you, Leliana!”

When she’d gone, Mnemyn wriggled free from the blankets and shimmied into Cullen’s tunic. Grinning, she rose and crossed the floor to stand beside him helping him with the buckles of his left vambrace.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she said softly, “but I want to.”

He stood there thunderstruck for a moment, watching as she hummed to herself and busily finished with the piece of armor she’d been working on. Together, they made short work of his armor and, when Mnemyn was done with the last piece she’d been carefully affixing the buckles to, she glanced up at him with a happy smile. He could feel a blush spread across his cheeks though, this time, was not entirely sure why; perhaps it was because she was looking at him with such adoration.

Cullen leaned down to rest his forehead against hers and stared lovingly into her eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Her grin widened and she stretched up to kiss him sweetly. They parted with a contented sigh and, although he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to. There was much yet to be done. Shrugging into his cloak, he drifted out the tent flaps, grinning like a fool.

 


	26. A ray of hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of the Inquisition survivors hangs by a thread. They need shelter and food and hope of attaining either is waning. Just when they think all is lost, Mother Giselle inspires the survivors and spurs Solas to help the Herald lead them out of the wilderness.
> 
> On their way to what hopefully will prove to be a promising new start for the Inquisition, Cullen and Mnemyn's friends share their thoughts on the couple's budding relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello e'erybody! Hope you had a pleasant weekend. :) Have a fluffy, light hearted chapter to get you through to the next one!
> 
> Clarification of one of the terms I've used in this chapter: Dreamwalking. Since at no point did Bioware specifically name the ability Solas uses, i.e. the practice of traversing the Fade in search of knowledge, I named it dreamwalking. This will come into play later and, obviously, I can't go into details because spoilers! ;)

_The Frostback Wilderness, Haring 3, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen had only just left their tent, still warm from the brazier and smiling from Mnemyn’s kiss in fact, when he found himself locked in a rancorous argument with his fellow advisors. Now that Mnemyn had returned to them, the question of what they should do next had to be answered.

“And what would you have me tell them?! This isn’t what we asked them to do!” Cullen shouted.

“We cannot simply ignore this! We _must_ find a way!” Cassandra said.

“And who put _you_ in charge?” Cullen snapped acidly in return. “We need a consensus or we have _nothing_!”

“ _Please_!” Josephine said, “We must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition we are hobbled.”

 _This is growing tiresome,_ Cullen thought as he huffed out an exasperated breath. “That can’t come from nowhere!”

“She didn’t say it could!” Leliana said.

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” Cassandra bellowed, “This is getting us nowhere!”

Cullen snorted, tossing his hand up disgustedly as he fixed Cassandra with an angry glare. “Well, we’re agreed on that much!”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Mnemyn standing in the flaps of her tent, shivering. Her hair hung over her shoulder like an inky waterfall, dripping wet. _She’s just finished her bath_. For a moment, he realized he wanted very badly to return to the cozy nest of furs to curl himself protectively around her, sleeping blissfully at her side. But he had a duty to the Inquisition first. The look on her face made him sigh; she was worried and, possibly, saddened to see the four of them arguing so.

Mother Giselle, thankfully, happened by at that moment and, seeing Mnemyn lingering in the tent flaps, began bustling her back to her sickbed, clucking over her like a mother hen. When she’d gone, he sighed heavily, dragging his hands over his face and into his hair.

He looked back to see the others staring in the direction Mnemyn’d gone, all three women’s faces painted with a look of embarrassment and regret. Clearly, they’d seen the look Mnemyn had given him. Gloomily, they returned to discussing things – actually talking to one another instead of shouting this time – trying to find some common ground. Cullen didn’t know how they’d manage it. The four of them were positively polarized on what their next step should be.

As Josephine began to opine that they could perhaps call on a few favors from either Orlais or Ferelden, Cullen began to pace. He continued to listen to the conversation behind him but found himself staring up at the black, featureless sky. Nearby, he could hear Mnemyn talking with the Revered Mother and noted how deeply shaken she sounded. What had Mother Giselle said to upset her so? Or had his argument with the other advisors shaken her?

He could hear Mother Giselle lecturing Mnemyn now, clearly trying to instill some hope in her. He glanced up when he heard the Herald sigh heavily in frustration and mutter, “Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that on hope alone.”

Before the Revered Mother could counter, he heard Mnemyn abruptly rise from her cot and walk away. There was a rustle of cloth—a lot of it in fact—and a moment later, she burst through the tent flaps, bundled heavily in his winter cloak. He couldn’t help but smile seeing her wear it even if somewhere in the back of his mind he was annoyed she’d gotten out of bed so soon.

Judging by her posture, he could see she was very clearly troubled and more than a bit annoyed by the Revered Mother’s lecture. Mother Giselle appeared in the doorway of the tent now, frowning as she watched the Herald retreat in frustration.

The Revered Mother seemed to be considering something now, though what he hadn’t a clue. The cold had seeped into his very bones it seemed and he, like the Herald, was beginning to feel the situation was utterly hopeless. They were going to die on this mountain. It was only a matter of time.

Just as he’d about resolved himself to go after Mnemyn, he heard Mother Giselle step out of their tent. He glanced over to see her hands clasped in front of her, her expression one of determination. She nodded to him and then began to sing a well-known hymn from the Chant of Light, her tone solemn but also uplifting.

As her voice carried on the cold mountain wind, Cullen watched as others in the camp began to join in until nearly everyone was singing. Soon even he was singing with them, much to his surprise. Then something very odd began to happen.

He watched as people began to slowly gather around the Herald. Mnemyn stood quietly, clearly unsure what to make of what was happening. As the final verses of the hymn were sung, many fell to their knees before her. They needed hope and Mnemyn had clearly given it to them.

After humbly speaking with a good many of the faithful crowded around her for quite some time, he saw a good many people cheered, their hearts clearly lighter. As the survivors retreated to their tents and cots, Cullen caught Mnemyn’s eye. He smiled at her and inclined his head to signal he was very pleased with how she’d handled herself and she managed a shy smile in return. As she stood near the camp’s central fire, it appeared as though she was considering whether or not she should come talk to him when Solas intercepted her.

To both Cullen and Mnemyn’s surprise, the stoic elven mage expressed his wish to converse with her. Giving one more lingering glance in Cullen’s direction, she did as she was bid and followed Solas to a slope outside camp. He watched her go, feeling mildly conflicted. He supposed he felt this way because he very nearly lost her. Having had, more or less, unfettered access to her for the last six or so hours made him feel a tiny bit entitled and, unfortunately, jealous that someone else was occupying her time.

He decided to find something useful to do. He considered working on reports but then remembered Dorian, aside from his mustache, had remained clean shaven. He had to have a razor. So, he retreated to the men’s’ tent in hopes of convincing the mage to let him borrow it. After being mercilessly ribbed for staying in the Herald’s tent, he retreated to a quiet corner of the camp to shave. That done to his – or more to the point, Mnemyn’s professed liking – he returned the borrowed shaving kit and retreated to the fire where he read over what few reports he had while he waited for Mnemyn to return.

He was awoken by someone gently shaking him. _When did I doze off_? he wondered. He opened his eyes to see Mnemyn smiling over him.

“Come to bed,” she said in a whisper. _Am I dreaming?_

He furrowed his brows and glanced about to find he’d nodded off where he’d sat down to wait for her, a stack of reports in his lap. When he hesitated, she gently took the stack of papers, hooked her hand under his bicep and tugged slightly, grinning wider still.

“A-are you sure you—”

“Yes,” she said firmly but not unkindly, “I—I know you might feel it’s…improper but I’d prefer not to be alone. Please, Cullen? I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Yes, uhm, of course….” So he wasn’t the only one feeling vulnerable and nervous in the wake of her wilderness walk. He smiled warmly and rose to his feet, allowing her to lead her back to her tent. How could he deny her? Especially when she asked so sweetly?

* * *

Cullen awoke to the sound of whispering and giggling. Carefully, he peeked open an eye and saw Rylen, Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra and Varric gathered at the flaps to Mnemyn’s tent—well, he supposed it was his now, too—watching them with great interest. _Maker’s breath_ , he thought as he lay still. Mnemyn, whom was cuddled up in his arms – which were conveniently providing her cover – pressed a finger to her lips to and looked up at him pleadingly. Apparently she didn’t want them to know they were awake?

“Maker, they’re so adorable!”

He heard Cassandra sigh and, surprisingly, it sounded wistful instead of disgusted. “If you wake them, I assure you, you won’t find the Commander so adorable.”

“Don’t ridiculous, Cassandra,” Leliana said, “they’re exhausted. I doubt an avalanche would wake them now.”

Varric groaned. “Too soon, Nightingale. Too soon.”

“Suit yourselves but don’t come crying to me when Cullen loses his temper at the four of you.”

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Lady Pentaghast!” Rylen said. From the tone of his voice, Cullen could tell he’d meant it in jest but, the underlying nervous titter indicated he feared Cassandra’d haul off and hit him.

“Yeah, Cassandra,” Varric said.  
  
“Shut. Up. Varric,” came Cassandra’s positively acidic reply. With a harrumph, the Seeker spun and stalked off, swearing under her breath. When it was clear she was out of earshot, Josephine spoke up again.

“Do you think…they’ll stay together now?”

“Depends on whether or not the Commander isn’t completely embarrassed that the lot of you are creepily watching him and the boss sleeping,” said a deep baritone from behind them. _Bull._

Mnemyn clamped a hand over her mouth and burrowed closer to him, her shoulders shaking as she desperately tried to hold in a laugh. Cullen had a difficult time as well and found he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. He heard Josephine gasp, Varric harrumph, Rylen cough, and nothing but silence from Leliana, whom he figured was either giving Bull an arch look or smirking.

“C’mon, you’ve ogled the two of them long enough,” Bull said, “Let them sleep. They deserve it.”

“Oh, all right.”

After they’d gone he heard footsteps signaling a new speaker’s arrival. When Vivienne’s voice reached his and Mnemyn’s ears, they both froze. “What you did was very kind, the Iron Bull.”

“Somebody’s got to step in now and again and regulate the circus, ma’am. Otherwise the boss and the Commander’d probably never get a moment alone.”

“Oh I don’t know, darling, I think they manage well enough on their own.”

“Eh,” Bull shrugged. “I think they’d prefer their well meaning companions kept their noses to themselves.”

“Perhaps,” Vivienne conceded regally. “Although I, for one, am positively delighted someone stepped in to help. Maker, watching the two of them flounder was ever so painful to observe.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, “well, I think I’ll go grab some chow.”

Cullen arched both brows in silent question, wondering if they’d truly gone. Mnemyn gave him a slight shake of her head to indicate she didn’t know. Just as he was about to spare a glance toward the tent flaps, a voice emanated from somewhere nearby to their left.

“They’re gone…”

“Cole!” Cullen growled.

“Sorry! I’m sorry… I was just trying to help. Forget!”

As they lay there in one another’s arms, Mnemyn squinted and crinkled up her nose. “Do you remember what we were talking about? I feel as though I was annoyed by something just now…”

“I can’t honestly recall,” he said, “Cole’s doing, no doubt.”

“Mm, probably,” she murmured, snuggling closer.

“Are we getting out of bed today?” he said, smiling into her hair.

“Oh, it’s we now, is it?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is…”

As soon as he answered, he felt her smile against his shoulder. Stifling a yawn with the back of his free hand, Cullen turned to lean his forehead against hers. Mnemyn sighed contentedly and closed her eyes; was she savoring the feeling of being next to him, he wondered.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed,” he said, “best I’ve slept in years.”

Mnemyn hummed and wiggled with delight beside him, clearly pleased by this revelation. He laughed softly and hugged her to him, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You are a joy, do you know that?”

“I…no one’s ever told me that… no.”

_Because she’s a mage._

“You are,” he said quietly. “And I am terribly fortunate to have you in my life.”

“And I you,” she said. She pressed a tender kiss into his shoulder and then propelled herself upright, stretching and yawning while making adorable noises. He smiled and reached to place a hand on her back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

“What did Solas say last evening?”

“Oh!” she said. Mnemyn grinned brilliantly and turned back to face him, placing a hand on either side of his head so she could lean down to kiss his cheek. He could see her eyes were positively dancing with excitement – in fact, her whole body seemed to thrum with joy. “Solas said he knows of somewhere we may take refuge. A fortress not far from here.”

“Strange…” Cullen remarked, “Here? In the Frostbacks? I don’t remember reading about any castle built near here…”

“He says it’s positively ancient and that he discovered it while dreamwalking the night before last. It’s obviously been abandoned but appears sturdy and serviceable.”

He considered it for a moment and then shrugged, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. “Couldn’t hurt to look,” he said, “considering we have no other prospects…”

He looked up to see she was smiling wistfully, her head canted to the side. He wondered if she was imagining what it might be like to live there. Cullen chuckled and pulled her down into his arms, nuzzling the stubble on his jaw against her cheek. She giggled and pawed at him, trying to roll away, but he held her fast and peppered her cheek and jaw with kisses.

It must’ve tickled because she giggled louder still and tried to squirm out of his arms. He let her go, realizing if they horsed around much longer things might end up somewhere they might regret tomorrow. Ever adept at reading him, she seemed to realize what he was thinking and frowned in agreement.

“We should probably get moving....”

“Yes,” he said, sighing.

“We’ll find somewhere to settle down,” she said. She reached over to cup his cheek with her palm, grazing his cheekbone tenderly with the pad of her thumb.

“We will.” He smiled at the tender gesture and closed his eyes to enjoy her touch for just a moment longer. Opening his eyes, he turned to press a tender kiss into her palm and began shooing her toward their clothes. “Up! We’ve much to discuss and accomplish if we’re to get this rabble moving before midday.”

After they’d dressed and eaten, Cullen convened the other advisors to disseminate the news. Naturally, they, too, were excited by the prospect of a secure location for the Inquisition to grow and flourish.

Soon, excitement buzzed throughout the remnants of the Inquisition; everyone was talking about the mysterious mountain fortress with delight. Cullen and the others marshaled the survivors and they quickly broke camp. Well, as quickly as one can get a hundred or so mages, Templars, soldiers, nobles and civilians to move that early in the morning.

They set out by mid-morning and, much to his remiss, Mnemyn and Solas insisted they range ahead. Cullen found himself highly reluctant to let her go off so soon after she’d nearly died. He quickly found himself out maneuvered by the clever mage when she got both Josephine and Leliana on her side. Reluctantly, Cullen relented and since he couldn’t justify going with her, he told her he’d only agree to let her go if she took a small group of their best soldiers along. After a bit of a back and forth, she finally relented. Pleased with himself, he went about asking Ser Markham, Rylen, Harding, and his aid, Kayleigh, to accompany her.

The next three and a half days proved to be arduous as the Inquisition struggled through the deeply snow laden passes of the Frostback mountains. Although Mnemyn and Solas continued to range ahead to make sure the path was free of obstacles and safe for the Inquisition and its many followers, he also realized she seemed to be making a point of spending time with the survivors. He wondered if this had to do with their reaction to her the night Mother Giselle sang. Either way, it was both delightful and comforting to see her doing what came so naturally to her: caring for other people.

And, it seemed no matter where she went these days, there was usually a generous number of children trailing after her. The Inquisition had always had a fairly sizable number of children and adolescents amongst the civilian followers; some were nobility, most others were children of the poor who’d come to support the Divine, and there had been a small number of apprentice mages. And now, with the rebel mages having joined them, they had even more children to shepherd.

He remembered that even in the earliest days of the Inquisition, Josephine had insisted all the children, regardless of their affiliation or magical abilities, should receive schooling. Divine Justinia gladly supported such a plan had asked for Leliana to arrange for several tutors be found to teach and apprentices.

After the conclave, many of the children had been orphaned and everyone did their part to ensure the children had been cared for and comforted. Cullen, who’d always been close to his own mother and father, remembered thinking he couldn’t imagine how terrible it was for them to lose their parents at such a young age. And, because of this, he’d gone out of his way to spend what little free time he had in the afternoons helping the caretakers amuse the children during their afternoon recess.

Not that he minded; despite his often gruff exterior, Cullen had always loved being around children. And although he’d never told anyone, he had always hoped to have a family of his own someday. It’d been a dim and distant hope until recently and now, being surrounded by so many giggling, happy faces, he couldn’t help but wonder what Mnemyn’s thoughts on the topic might be.

When Madame de Fer joined them, she had remarked she was surprised someone had thought to school the children in such a ‘backwater’. She quickly went about rearranging the curriculum for the apprentices, insisting that despite being so far from a Circle tower there was no excuse to let their learning lapse. He agreed. Also, it gave the children something to do and kept them from being under foot.

Today, Mnemyn was working with the apprentices. Solas had, surprisingly, offered to assist her, and the two mages cheerfully answered questions and taught lessons as the Inquisition wound its way through the mountain passes. Sometime before luncheon, Cullen heard a scream emanating from the direction of Mnemyn and her flock of students.

His heart in his throat, he raced in that direction, his hand at the ready to draw his sword should he need it. The scene when he arrived, however, was certainly much different – and much more joyful – than he’d anticipated. Judging by the way she and Solas were laughing and lobbing snowballs at one another, he suspected Mnemyn had started a snowball battle.

He watched with great amusement as she drew Cassandra, who’d also heard the scream – obviously more likely a squeal of joy from one of the children, to her side and, somehow, finagled the stoic Seeker into playing along. Soon, Varric and Sera had joined in as well and the battle began anew.

So absorbed by watching Varric and Cassandra hurl snowballs at one another, both laughing like children and their eyes dancing with delight, that he didn’t see Mnemyn approach.

“Cullen!”

“Mnemyn! I heard a shout and—”

She grinned and held out her hand to him. He sighed and stared at it, giving her a mildly disapproving look. “No one wants to see their Commander running about like a school boy…”

“Beg to differ!” said Rylen from somewhere nearby. Before Cullen could retort, a snowball came sailing his way, exploding in a hail of snow crystals as it impacted his breastplate. Mnemyn drew her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle her nearly giddy laugh and then ducked as at least two more snowballs were lobbed his way. He held up his hand to shield his eyes and, when the snow had settled, saw both Cassandra and Varric grinning madly at him.

“Maker’s breath.”

“Come ‘ave some fun, Commander Fussy-britches,” Mnemyn said in her best impression of Sera. He laughed and took her outstretched hand and allowed her to lead him into the fray.

A pitched battle ensued and Cullen found himself surrounded by no less than a dozen children, all of them hunkered down behind a hastily constructed blind made of ice.

“Didja see her, C’mmander?” asked one of the younger apprentices. She looked to be barely five and had clambered into his lap, staring up at him with her pretty green eyes and a smile.

He grinned. “Yes, Elisabeth, and we must be patient. The Herald is a very wily opponent; if we’re not careful she’ll outmaneuver us.”

“Commander Cullen!” shouted one of the boys, “She’s preparin’ to flank us!”

“Blast!” he groused playfully. With a grin he gathered the children around him. “All right skirmish formation, children. Remember the plan!”

Moments later, as Mnemyn rounded their protective cover, she was met with a hail of snowballs. Squealing and laughing she attempted to make a hasty retreat but Cullen was too quick for her and hauled her to the ground, laughing. He rolled himself onto his back, taking her with him and, as she peered down at him, still laughing merrily, he was struck by the sudden thought that this is what he hoped their life would be like later; love, laughter, children.

With the Herald down and seemingly ‘captured,’ the battle ended not long after. As they got to their feet, both he and Mnemyn brushing the snow from one another, Cullen noticed how many had gathered to watch the snow battle and every one of the spectators were grinning broadly.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

She smiled in a most self-satisfied manner and feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They needed to laugh,” said Cole from nearby.

“Yes, Cole, they did. _We_ did,” Cullen said. He pulled Mnemyn to him and pressed a gentle, loving kiss to her forehead. As they meandered back toward the main body of the caravan he wondered if the rest of the Inquisition realized how fortunate they were to have her.


	27. The Place where the Sky is kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is discovered and work begins on repairs, guard rotations, procuring supplies, and, most importantly, naming the Inquisitor. Afterwards, Mnemyn accepts Varric's offer for assistance from a mysterious contact and Cullen comes clean about getting clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! Here's the next installment, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Glossary entry:  
> Aderyn - pronounced Ahh-derrin; Free Marcher form of Derrin, meaning "blessed one" (following on the riff of Celtic/welsh spellings for names).
> 
> ******** Important News Update ********  
> Hello dear readers! The second half of my school term has begun! Woo! Environmental Science and another Graphics art class on tap this time. Also, Spring break is next week and, as such, my children will be home on holiday. After that, my husband comes back from his deployment. Needless to say, family (and school) stuff comes first and so updates during the next two to three weeks may slow down significantly. I hope you understand! Thanks for continuing to read! :)

_The Frostback wilderness, Haring 6, Dragon 9:41_

It was shortly after noon when Mnemyn returned to inform the Inquisition leadership that she’d located the mythical fortress Solas spoke of. The survivors had been walking for three days already and were quite weary but upon hearing that it was only another day’s walk to the castle they were re-energized. A buzz passed through the camp as the news spread and, much to Cullen’s chagrin, people were soon rushing pell-mell to break down tents and load up supplies. Before things could get too far out of hand, he and his officers began to organize the civilians’ and their gear into some semblance of order.

By mid-morning the following day, the remnants of the Inquisition, with Mnemyn and Cullen at the fore, crested a peak to finally see the fabled fortress for the first time. As Cullen stood at Mnemyn’s side, staring breathlessly in wonder at its magnificent walls and majestic towers, he felt her slip her hand silently into his own.

“Welcome home,” she said.

He felt a great swelling of joy and pride hearing her words and swept her into a tender kiss. There was a small commotion behind them as people noticed but Cullen decided that, right now, he just didn’t really care. They had hope and, more importantly, he now had it as well; hope that he would finally find redemption and peace for his past. And, if he could overcome his fears and his addiction to lyrium, he knew he would be able to love this wonderfully kind and generous woman without anything standing between them.

They arrived at the fortress shortly before dusk and as they traversed the long causeway to pass through the gate, Cullen had to admit Skyhold was impressive despite it’s supposed age. A quick inspection of the courtyards brought even more good news: there was ample space to house the Inquisition though, as their army grew, they’d likely have to set them up outside the castle walls. But that was a worry for another day. Right now, he had a great number of people who needed a meal and a place to sleep.

 

* * *

 

After everyone had been settled and the Herald had finally turned in, Cullen and the other advisors quietly gathered by a campfire in the lower bailey. Cassandra had summoned them to discuss the future of the Inquisition. Although he was attempting to listen, Cullen found himself particularly preoccupied with creating guard rotations, assigning engineers to essential repairs, and a half dozen other things.  
  
“After all that has transpired, I feel it is time to name the Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. There was a distinct tone of solemnness in her voice and, as she glanced between each of them, probably trying to gauge their reactions, she nodded to each in turn. “I do not believe I need to belabor this point, but the honor should go to the Herald.”

Leliana nodded in agreement, “Yes, that would be most wise.”

After he’d managed to compose himself, Cullen looked over the top of his reports. “She’s proven herself more than capable. I shall have the sword prepared in the morning.”

“I will make the appropriate announcements to the people,” Josephine added, “and will begin preparing missives for our supporters abroad.”

“Then we are in agreement?” Cassandra asked, clearly a bit surprised. The irony of the situation was not lost on Cullen. They’d spent much of the last week and a half bickering heatedly about even the most trivial of things. When he, Leliana and Josephine nodded in agreement, the Seeker smiled and nodded in return.

“Although, I would caution you, Lady Pentaghast: we will need at least a week to prepare,” Josephine said.

“I’d say a week and a half at best,” Cullen said. “We’ll need to reestablish supply lines, restock our dwindling stores, house our troops and care for our wounded.”

“A wise decision,” Leliana said, “I will begin reaching out to our contacts to reestablish our presence.”

Cassandra smiled, clearly pleased. “Very well, we will reconvene in ten days.”

And with that, the group drifted apart leaving Cullen standing in the courtyard alone. Sighing tiredly, he retreated to his tent alone. Josephine had insisted the Herald have her own accommodations and by the way she looked at him when she’d made her declaration, it was clear he was expected to remain in his own. He was only mildly annoyed by this because he’d been told he couldn’t see her.

He sat his reports aside and, as he took off his armor, he decided that tomorrow morning was already coming entirely too fast. The last piece of armor neatly stacked at the foot of his cot, he lay back with his reports laid stacked neatly on his chest, and resigned himself to a short nap. His thoughts drifted, of course, to Mnemyn and he began to regret not sneaking off to find her to, at the very least, give her a kiss goodnight.

He awoke when sunlight peeked through the flaps of his tent the next morning. Muttering an oath, Cullen rolled out of his cot and scooped up the reports that littered the floor. That done to his satisfaction, he hastily donned his armor and hurried off to find Rylen and their staff. They had so much to do.

 

* * *

 

In the first few days of their explorations, Cullen quickly found a suitable site to set up an office which would allow him a number of small luxuries - chief of which being not having his papers scattered by the wind. Wryly, he imagined Jim would be quite thankful he'd be relieved of his duties as 'the Commander's official paper chaser.' Rylen had saddled him with this proverbial dunce cap - and rightly so, in Cullen's opinion - for leaving an entire stack of intelligence reports unweighted and, of course, a huge gust of wind promptly scattered them from one end of Haven to the other.

While the room was readied, he continued to use a makeshift desk in the lower bailey. Kayleigh took it upon herself to make sure the Commander’s office was cleared of debris and cleaned. According to the requisitions he approved, she’d also been working with Bonnie Sims to acquire a suitable pieces to furnish it.

Needless to say, he was very impressed when an overlarge executive desk inscribed with the insignia of Kirkwall arrived one afternoon. It looked sturdy and imposing; just as a Commander’s desk should, he decided. While they’d waited for the desk to arrive, Kayleigh had also made inquiries with the bookseller in Redcliff in attempt to collect and, in some cases, replace military tomes she knew he’d find useful. One particular morning, he walked in to find several large stacks of books lining the north wall just waiting for shelves to house them.

Although both he and Mnemyn were unspeakably busy helping settle the Inquisition into its new home, they still found time to spend with one another, often sneaking off to sit in the keep’s garden or walk the battlements together. Much to both their disappointment, neither had permanent quarters – Cullen was actually living in a temporary men’s dorm which he shared with Dorian, Bull, Blackwall, Rylen, Varric and Solas. Cole sometimes visited but they soon realized he didn’t actually sleep which unsettled both Bull and Dorian to varying degrees.

 

* * *

 

Finally, the day of the Inquisitor’s appointment had arrived. Just as Seeker deigned, at slightly before a quarter of nine, the advisors convened in the lower bailey.

“Has the sword been prepared?” Cassandra said.

“Yes,” Cullen said, “I’ve given it to Charter to hold until the ceremony.”

“Excellent,” she said, “I shall send a runner to locate the Herald…”

“No need, Cassandra,” Leliana said. She tipped a slight nod toward the southern most gatehouse tower and, they all turned to see the Herald tripping down the stairs, making her way toward them.

“Did I miss a meeting? I apologize if I did…I was helping Healer Ellendra roll bandages and make poltices.”

Cullen smiled inwardly, marveling at both Mnemyn’s uncanny ability to appear at the right place and right time and how she had absolutely no qualms about rolling up her sleeves and pitching in wherever help was needed. As the Seeker waved her over, Cullen had to keep from smiling and, as she approached, he, Leliana, and Josephine split off to allow Cassandra to explain their intent.

He watched Cassandra lead Mnemyn up the long staircase that led to the upper bailey until they passed under the arch which supported the main stair of the keep. He inhaled deeply, excitement thrumming through him as they waited. They disappeared around the corner and out of sight for a few moments before reappearing as they crested the landing of the keep’s main stair.

Mnemyn hesitated a moment on the last stair as she spotted Leliana, who stood waiting serenely for them, the massive broadsword of the Inquisitor laid across her palms. Cassandra, her expression solemn, was still explaining their decision for wanting to name her the head of the Inquisition.  He could see Mnemyn, who’d been listening intently, blink in surprise, her eyebrows raising toward her hairline. After a brief but intense back-and-forth, she turned to look at the sword and seemed to be considering what Cassandra had asked of her.  

She seemed to be questioning Cassandra closely and, from her expression, he could tell she had some serious reservations about accepting the title. He imagined she worried that naming her, a mage, as head of the Inquisition would cause more than a mild furor throughout the Chantry as well as all of Thedas. The seconds seemed to drag as Cullen watched, holding his breath and praying she’d say yes.

Mnemyn had turned to face Leliana, her eyes fixed on the ancient sword as she contemplated what Cassandra had asked of her. Finally, he saw her reach out to grasp the hilt. He felt his breath hitch as she stood there a look of uncertainty writ across her expression and then he watched as she turned toward the crowd, searching for someone.

It was then her gaze settled on him and she smiled. After a moment, he could see she seemed to be looking at him in silent question and a surge of elation shot through him. She wanted his opinion. His heart thundering in his chest, Cullen smiled and nodded in encouragement. And at that moment, he saw her hesitance melt away. Nodding her thanks to him, Mnemyn turned and took the sword in her hand, testing its weight for a moment before she faced the crowd once more. Behind him, he heard a murmur ripple through the crowd.

Cassandra stepped forward and shouted to the Ambassador, “Have our people been told?”  
  
“They have, and soon, the world!” Josephine shouted brightly in return from his side.

“Commander, will they follow?” Cassandra asked. Turning to the crowd which had gathered behind him, Cullen raised his voice and posed the question to the men and women who watched him with anticipation.

“Inquisition!” he said. “Will you follow?”

An uproarious cheer met his question nearly immediately, sending a wave of pride and hope surging through him. Cullen grinned, raising his hands to encourage their continued cheers, and yelled another question over the noise. “Will you fight?”

A second and much louder cheer washed over him and echoed loudly throughout the bailey, causing him to grin wider still. He shivered slightly as gooseflesh prickled across his skin from the excitement of the moment. “Will we triumph?!”

The crowd was now roaring now, their cheers surging upwards to reverberate against the strong stone walls of Skyhold. It seemed the very ground was quaking from the sound and Cullen could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

He turned, drawing his sword and raised it high in the air in salute to Mnemyn and proudly announced, “Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor!_ ”

In answer, Mnemyn thrust the sword skyward triumphantly.

As he stood there watching her, it occurred to him that things would change now, and probably rather quickly. And while this thought filled him with pride and excitement somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if their relationship was prudent considering her new appointment. Deciding that was a worry for later, he sheathed his sword and turned to Josephine motioning to the stairs. She smiled exuberantly and giddily picked her way through the cheering throng while he trailed behind her. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she turned to wait for him and, after he struggled past the last clump of celebrating revelers, they took the stairs together.

Soon, they had reunited with the others on the landing where the Seeker suggested they explore the main keep to search for a suitable place to set up headquarters. She herself opted to bow out, stating something else required her attention. They said their goodbyes and then Cullen, with the Inquisitor at his side, led the quartet up the final flight of stairs. With some effort, they managed to push open the ancient oaken doors.

Stretched out before them lay a positively massive great hall. Cullen made a quick estimation and imagined it had to be at least 9 meters across, 28 meters long and four stories tall. A truly impressive sight in its heyday he imagined. At the end of the hall, sun streamed through a wall of broken stained glass windows, the light from which shone down on a slightly raised dais adorned with a positively ancient looking throne.

As the four of them picked their way across the rubble strewn floor it became clear that part of the roof had fallen in at some point. Even damaged as it was, the room was still impressive. The sheer size of it was bigger than anything he’d ever seen before. Leliana noted she could hear birdsong and, upon further investigation, they saw nests in the railings of the balconies which overlooked the hall as well as the remaining timbers and rafters of the roof.

They spent the next hour or so exploring and debating their next moves as well as discussing Corypheus and a great many other topics. At some point, Leliana brought up the issue of the strange creature’s pet dragon. To many—including she, who’d fought at Warden Amell’s side when she killed Urthemiel—it appeared as though it truly was an Archdemon. Cullen reminded her that Cole had even said as much as he fought at his side during the siege of Haven.

“Yes, this is deeply worrying,” Leliana said.

“If it truly is an Archdemon then we may well have a blight on our hands.”

Cullen sighed, shaking his head. “As if we don’t have enough to deal with already.”

“Nothing is certain,” Mnemyn reminded them. “We need more information. Have there been any reports of any increase in darkspawn activity?”

“We’ve seen no other darkspawn except for Corypheus himself. Perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all, but something different?” Josephine said.

Cullen shrugged. “Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t ignore.”

Mnemyn frowned and folded her arms in front of her as she considered their theories. “Someone out there must know something about Corypheus.”

“Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists,” Cullen said.

Conversation continued back and forth between them, each advisor expressing their concern for not having enough information. As they were trying to decide where to start looking, they were interrupted by Varric. “I know someone who can help us.”

When Mnemyn arched an eyebrow and stepped forward to hear what he had to say, everyone else following suit, Varric continued though it was clear the sudden scrutiny had him flustered. “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend.”

“Go on,” Mnemyn said.

“She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before, and may even know what he’s doing. She can help.”

“Very well,” Mnemyn said. “I’m always looking for new allies, introduce us.”

“Uhm, parading around might cause a fuss. It’s better for you to meet privately. On the battlements. Say, in a week?” Cullen immediately became suspicious when he noted how cagey Varric seemed. Also, there was the fact that the dwarf wasn’t forthcoming with the details of this supposed expert’s identity.

“This sounds ominous,” Mnemyn said.

“Trust me, it’s complicated.”

“Alright Varric, I’ll meet with your mysterious woman in a week’s time.”

When he’d left, Leliana expressed her concern as to the identity of Varric’s mysterious contact. “If it is who I think it is, Cassandra will likely kill him.”

Cullen also suspected who their new, mysterious contact might be and expected he’d receive a visit from said visitor under the cover of darkness at some point in the near future. He sighed, reaching to massage the back of his neck as the tension between his shoulder blades grew exponentially. Mnemyn gave him a concerned look and he quietly indicated he’d tell her later.

He hadn’t seen her for a few years and, although he thought of her often, he wondered what bad news she’d be the harbinger of. _Trouble always follows wherever she goes…_ , he thought ruefully. Of course, trouble seemed to follow them as well so he supposed maybe it evened things out.  
  
Their business concluded, Leliana and Josephine drifted off to attend to their own work and, as they’d turned to leave, Mnemyn had given him a meaningful look. Clearly, she was hoping for a moment alone with him. "Do you have time for a walk?"

"I do but..."

"What's wrong?"

The last few days had been excruciating for them both. They’d only been able to sneak away a handful of times and their stolen kisses had been becoming increasingly heated leaving both of them flustered and mildly frustrated. It was clear neither of them would be able to wait much longer to share a bed and, thus, Cullen decided now would be a good time to discuss important matters with Mnemyn.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," he said, "In private."

Mnemyn had slowly moved to stand at his side, her alluring blue-green eyes fixed on him in anticipation. "Oh, well in that case..."

"Much as I'd like it to be...for that reason, I'm afraid it's something else entirely."

"Alright," she said. "I'm listening."

“Perhaps my office would be a better...venue for this discussion?”

“Of course.”

He remained silent as they left the main keep, his brows furrowed as he worked out exactly what he would say to her. Before the ceremony, Cullen had told his staff not to bother him until after the evening meal because this time there would be no interruptions. The subject which he wished to speak to her about would be hard enough to discuss on its own. He didn’t need to also worry someone would walk in and overhearing something they shouldn’t.

They arrived after a tense several minutes, an air of foreboding hanging between them much to his disappointment. He moved to stand behind his desk while she stood across from him, just two paces in front of his desk. He could see she was watching him with quiet curiosity. Reaching into his top desk drawer, he produced the familiar, world-worn box which contained the tools he’d used to craft the Lyrium draughts he’d once required as a Templar. He opened the lid with a heavy sigh and finally looked up to meet Mnemyn’s now deeply concerned gaze.

“Cullen,” she began, taking a tentative step toward his desk, “is something the matter?”

“As Inquisitor…,” he said. Sighing, he stopped to look down at his desk. Perhaps not looking at her until he got what he needed to say off his chest would be best. He took a deep breath and tried again, his expression solemn and his tone rather grave. “As I alluded to last week, there is something I must tell you.”

Inwardly, he winced as he realized that sounded far more ominous than he’d intended. There was nothing to be done about it now, though, and held his breath as he waited for her reaction. She seemed confused by his solemn demeanor but encouraged him to continue. “Whatever it is, I’m more than willing to listen.”

“Right, thank you.” A wave of relief washed over him momentarily and he let out the breath he’d been holding. This was certainly not the answer he’d expected but he was glad she seemed to be supportive. For now. He wondered how long that sentiment would last after he explained himself.

Nodding to the philter, he began, “As you well know, unlike with mages, lyrium grants templars our abilities. But it also used to control us as well.”

Frowning, he braced his hands on his desk on either side of the philter, and stared at it for a moment before continuing. “Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die.”

“We have secured a reliable source of Lyrium for the Templars here,” he continued, feeling as though he could barely hear himself speak over his heart thundering in his chest. It was now or never. Cullen swallowed his pride, tamped down his fear and spoke. “But I—no longer take it.”

Unable to bring himself to look at her for fear of what he’d find in her expression, he stood there waiting for her inevitable rejection in gut wrenching silence. So sure was he that she’d be revolted that her concerned reply nearly startled him. “You stopped?”

He nodded slightly while still continuing to stare at the blighted box which sat between his hands. He knew he couldn’t not answer her and somewhere found the courage to tell her the truth. “When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been quite some time now; almost a year i fact.”

He heard her step closer to him, her hand coming to rest on the desk at the edge of his field of vision. There was a mild tinge of fear to her voice as she spoke. “Cullen, if this can kill you—”

He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “It hasn’t yet.”

“After the events that transpired in Kirkwall, I found I couldn’t—” His voice faltered as anger at how blinded he was to what his Knight-Commander was really doing flooded through him. Grief boiled in his gut over the things he’d initially said to Hawke about mages right after he’d arrived from Ferelden. Cullen found his gaze fixed on Mnemyn’s hands which she held tightly clenched in front of her, the knuckles white from the pressure she was exerting on them. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she was genuinely and very deeply concerned for him.

“I will not be bound to the order—to that life—any longer,” he said. Feeling braver than he had in several minutes, he finally straightened to look her in the eye. He desperately hoped she could see the conviction in his expression as he explained himself. “Whatever the suffering, I accept it.

“But I would not put the Inquisition at risk,” he said. “I have asked Cassandra to—watch me. Should she feel my ability to lead has been compromised, I shall be removed from duty.”

Mnemyn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise for the briefest of moments. He saw her sigh softly and then her brow furrowed as she tried to absorb and process everything he’d just said. Cullen held his breath as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

Finally, Mnemyn looked up great concern written across her face. She did not speak for some minutes and he could see she her hands were shaking. Was she afraid? For him? “Are you… in pain?”

Her answer - the complete opposite of what he’d expected her to say - caught him off guard. He managed to recover quickly and attempted to reassure her. “I can endure it.”

She was chewing her lip slightly now, and she unfolded her hands to cross her arms in front of her, looking fretfully at some point over his shoulder. He could see red marks on the backs of her hands from where she’d been clasping her fingers together so tightly. After a moment she seemed to decide something and looked up to meet his gaze. “I respect what you’re doing, Commander. Thank you for telling me.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if she was convinced by what he’d said so he tried reassuring her. “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen—you have my word that I shall defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

She nodded to indicate she understood and, after an extremely heart wrenching pause, she cleared her throat and, in a small voice, hesitantly asked a question. “May I…share something, Commander?”

“Of course.”

“Do you recall the story I told you the night I injured my leg? About my uncle?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Uncle Owain was, in many ways, what I’ve always considered to be the standard to which all other Templars should strive to be: kind yet firm, honest, compassionate, ever vigilant, and, above all else, dedicated to protecting not only his charges but the community in which he served from danger.

“Every one of those qualities I see in you, Commander.”

Cullen stared at her, unable to hide his shock.

“As you may know, our family is probably one of the most devout in Ostwick so, as you can imagine, many of our third and fourth born sons and daughters commit their lives to Chantry service. My brother and I idolized uncle Owain. When we were still quite young—five, I believe—my father asked my brother if he wished to become a templar. Aderyn emphatically agreed. Soon after, he was given to the templars and our uncle became his mentor.

“Four years later, during a family gathering I was given permission to attend, I remember Aderyn telling me our uncle was beginning to forget things. Small things like, where he’d hung his winter cloak or where he’d laid his helm.

“His condition worsened rather quickly, as I recall,” she said softly. “Eventually, he could not remember father nor his wife, let alone his daughters or Aderyn and I. One morning he…he  attacked my brother because he thought he was an intruder in the tower.

“My father and his brothers were…beside themselves,” she said. She’d held his gaze until that moment, but had to look away; the story had become much more difficult to tell.

“My uncle was retired, with honors, from the Order. When he died…my brother…he took it very hard. He was excused from training as Knight-Commander Randall and my father believed a period of mourning would do him some good. But Aderyn never looked at the Templars the same way. He knew what caused our uncle’s condition as did my father. Eventually, father quietly asked for Aderyn to be dismissed from templar training.”

She looked up at him, a look of conviction and understanding reflected in her blue-green eyes. “I understand why you made your decision, Cullen. And to say I fully support you would be an understatement.”

“Thank you, Mnemyn.”

“If…if there’s anything I can do, please tell me,” she said. She stood there, her statement hanging between them in the awkward silence that followed. She looked so incredibly concerned for him and Cullen wanted nothing more than to tell her not to worry. He knew better, though. She’d worry enough for the both of them and then some. "I... well, uhm, don't really know what to say...."

“I should, ah, let you get back to your duties.”

He sighed softly to himself as he watched her go. He knew he’d really worried her but, despite this fact, also he suddenly felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. She knew now, he reasoned, and, judging by how she’d reacted, he knew she at least cared for him as a friend. He puffed out a breath and, deciding his office, large as it was, suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned and took to the battlements to clear his head.

Their duties kept them apart for the next few days but Mnemyn still managed to find time to co-opt Kayleigh, convincing the young woman help her keep an eye on her Commander. When she came to deliver her evening reports, Mnemyn would give her a note, often containing a short message of love and encouragement, or a mug of tea to deliver to him. And after the first few deliveries, Cullen began looking forward whatever she sent. It wasn’t ideal, he admitted quietly to himself, but it was better than not hearing from her at all. Hopefully, the hurried pace of settling in would soon fade into a normal routine once again. And soon.


	28. A visit from Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a late evening war room meeting, Livia Hawke darkens Cullen's door. Hilarity ensues. Afterwards, Cullen retreats to the mens' dormitory where his friends - chiefly Dorian and the Iron Bull - give him a hard time for not moving in with Mnemyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As I mentioned in my last post, my spouse returns from deployment in a few days and then Spring Break holiday begins. Needless to say, this will be the only post for the next eight to 10 days. I'll be back with another chapter on April 2nd. Until then, I hope you have a safe and happy week! Enjoy!

_Skyhold, Haring 12, Dragon 9:41_

Nearly a week after their discussion about Corypheus and his possible motives, Mnemyn called an impromptu war table meeting, still sans war table, in which she revealed Varric’s contact was none other than the Champion of Kirkwall. Cullen sighed and turned to see Leliana equally exasperated. They shared a brief, knowing look at this revelation before turning their attention back to the Inquisitor.

This really didn’t bode well for Varric, Cullen knew, and he was mightily glad he was not in the dwarf’s place when the Seeker learned he’d kept Hawke’s whereabouts deliberately a secret. Considering everything Varric had done for he and Mnemyn, Cullen decided he’d warn him to lie low for awhile after the briefing ended.

Hawke’s information created more questions than it actually answered. Mnemyn explained how Livia and Varric had encountered Corypheus some years ago in the depths of a mysterious Grey Warden prison.

“But if the Champion fought and killed him, why is he up and walking about?” Josephine said.

“Both Varric and Hawke emphatically swore that, when they were done, he was dead on the ground and I quote ‘bleeding all over my new boots, the blighted bastard.’”

“Hawke may be a bit flippant at times but I’ve never known her to lie,” Cullen said. “Well, not when it counted, anyway. If she said it--whatever it is--was dead, then it was.”

“Then it behooves us to meet with her contact outside of Crestwood,” Leliana said. “Who did Hawke say you were to rendezvous with?”

“She didn’t. Only that my contact would be a male and a Grey Warden,” Mnemyn said. Cullen was moderately surprised there wasn’t an excited titter to her voice considering whom she was to meet. Instead, her eyes were intently fixed on the map as she studied area surrounding Crestwood. “Sister Nightingale, what’s the current situation in Crestwood? Please say it’s fine...”

“I’m sorry to report it is far from fine, Your Worship,” Leliana said. “The town has been besieged by dead rising from the nearby lake, bandits, Venatori, a rampaging wyvern and, believe it or not, a High dragon.”

“Andraste wept!”

“Indeed,” Cullen said. He watched as Mnemyn tried her best to rub her tired eyes as discreetly as she could manage. Frowning, he glanced about to his fellow advisors and noted they, too, looked exhausted. “As the hour is growing late, perhaps we might table this and reconvene in the morning when we’re fresh? We’ll have at least another hour or two of discussing the logistics the Inquisitor’s deployment….”

Josephine primly covered a yawn with her hand and nodded.

“Of course, Commander,” Leliana said. By the way she was smiling, he suspected she thought he was adjourning the meeting so he could spend time with Mnemyn. She was wrong in that regard – he did have legitimate work to do and the rest of them needed sleep.

Though as his counterparts filed out of the war room, Mnemyn slowly meandered toward him a wicked grin tugging at her lips. As soon as the war room door clicked shut behind Leliana, he grinned and pulled her into his arms. “Yes, Your Worship?”

She gave him a lopsided grin in return and canted her head to the side. “I don’t suppose you’re free to actually go to bed now?”

“Sadly, no,” he said, sighing. “I’ve a pile of work I need to finish before the morning.”

Mnemyn sighed and laid her head on his shoulder and, although she didn’t complain, he could feel her disappointment hanging between them. He placed a gender kiss on her temple and, in a soothing voice, tried to convince her they’d have more time for one another. “We’ve nearly gotten Skyhold settled, it shouldn’t be much longer before I can have some time to myself in the evenings.”

“I’m of a mind to order you to hire an army of scribes and aids to help you with this ridiculous workload of yours. Leliana and Josephine don’t appear—”

“You know as well as I, they’re just as busy and are much better at hiding their…fatigue, if you will.”

“Or delegating,” she said. Cullen frowned reached down to gently lift her chin so he could gaze into her eyes.

“I might concede that if – and only if – I can have a kiss goodnight.”

“I might agree to those terms,” she said, “if you agree to take a night off tomorrow.”

Glancing toward the ceiling while humming thoughtfully, Cullen pretended to consider her counter proposal which earned him a wry chuckle. “I suppose I can allow myself _a_ night off.”

“Then you, Ser, have yourself an accord,” she murmured as she slowly arched up on the balls of her feet to kiss him. He sighed as she drew near, the day’s tension melting away. But, just as the kiss had begun, Mnemyn pulled away, smirking as she slipped from his arms.

“You said—”

“I said I’d kiss you, Commander. Not what sort of kiss nor for how long. Good night!”

Cullen stood there stunned as he watched her drift out of the war room and into the hall beyond. When it was clear she wasn’t kidding, he sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. So this was his punishment, so to speak, for taking on too much work for himself. Deciding had far too much work to do to worry about it now, he retreated to his office.

Now, Cullen had fully fully intended to go to bed soon after he’d completed his pile of paper work, but as he sat scribbling notes on the umpteenth report on guard rotations and repairs, he realized he’d been working for well over an hour and was nowhere near finished. He let out an annoyed growl and roughly put his quill in its holder before scrubbing his hands over his face. He’d never get any sleep at this rate. As he sat there fuming, he heard someone make their presence known from the southern doorway. Squinting into the darkness, he looked up to see Livia Hawke smirking from just outside the threshold wreathed in shadow.

“Hello, Knight-Commander,” she said. He was about to correct her when she gave him a lopsided grin. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry… it’s just Commander now, isn’t it? Varric tells me this has been quite a promotion for you. Lots of… _perks_ and the like.”

Cullen sighed and shook his head as he sat his work aside and pushed to his feet. “Still running at the mouth, I see.”

“Would you have me any other way, Cullen?”

“I suppose not.” He was attempting to pretend to be serious but couldn’t help but smile when Livia crossed the the room to stand in front of him, pouting.

“Hugs!” she said and immediately flung herself into Cullen’s arms with a playful laugh.

“How’ve you been?” Smiling, he returned the hug and, after a moment, sat the petite mage on her feet again.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she said. “If you like running for your life constantly.”

“You could’ve just talked to Leliana or Cass—”

“After what Seeker Pentaghast did to Varric, _no_.” Hawke snorted, her hands falling to rest on her hips. He watched as her expression changed from that of her usual casual, lightheartedness to one of barely controlled fury. Not that she wasn’t justified in her anger. Cassandra had gone a step too far by they way she’d treated Varric after she’d taken him prisoner. “Let’s not talk of it, shall we?”

“Very well,” he said.

“Instead, let’s talk about _you_ ,” she said. She regarded him with a slightly smug smile and arched both brows – clearly expecting him to tell him all his news. News which he knew she already knew, thanks to Varric.

“Hawke.” He said her name as a warning which only seemed to provoke a chuckle from her, her bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, come now, Cullen,” Hawke said, “Varric says you’re exceedingly content here and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me happy. I just wanted to hear your telling of your relationship with Her Worship. It sounded so…romantic. Well, in the ‘a former hard charging, very anti-mage Knight-Captain falls for a mage’ ironic kind of way….”

Cullen rolled his eyes and motioned to his chair, offering her a seat. “And what else, pray tell, has Varric told you?”

“Only good things,” she said. “Your Inquisitor seems to be a compassionate and honorable woman, Commander.”

Cullen watched as Hawke made herself at home at his desk, immediately leaning back to prop up her feet on his desktop. “A bit Spartan, but it’ll do. Needs a woman’s touch, though.”

“She has more important things to do, I’m afraid,” he said. Reaching into his bottom desk drawer he produced a bottle of wine and set about opening it.

Hawke nodded appreciatively when he handed her a glass and, as she took a sip, smiled wryly. “Aggregio Pavali? Have you been keeping this for me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “It showed up on my desk this afternoon out of the blue.”

“And you had nothing to do with its procurement? Cullen, you always and continue to be a terribly dreadful liar,” she teased, grinning. “Fenris would be envious to hear we’re sharing a bottle without him. Granted, he’d likely decorate your walls with it…”

Cullen laughed, remembering her tell him the story of the first time she spoke to her husband alone. Meanwhile, Livia sat sipping her wine, humming tunelessly for a moment while looking exceedingly pleased he’d thought of her. “How is Fenris?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” she said. “Until very recently, he’s been in Kirkwall working on perfecting his stern father voice. Not that it’s helped him in the slightest…”

When Cullen’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline, Hawke chuckled and sat forward to place her glass on his desk before fishing something out of her inner tunic. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten to send the birth announcements. The week after she was born I think I was busy killing a High Dragon or some such nonsense.”

She handed him a small folded and incredibly weathered piece of paper and grinned as she resumed reclining in his chair. Opening it, he saw a charcoal sketch of Fenris holding a little elven girl with raven hair; she looked barely older than two. The little girl was the spitting image of Livia or, at the very least, what Cullen imagined Livia looked like at age two, and appeared to be picture of contentedness sleeping on her father’s chest, her little thumb in her mouth. Fenris, too, appeared to be sleeping his own expression was one of absolute happiness.

“Our daughter, Esme,” Hawke said.

“Congratulations.” Smiling, he refolded the drawing carefully and handed it back to her. “She’s precious.”

“Precocious is more like it,” she said. “She’s wrapped Fenris right ‘round her little pinky.”

“I have a difficult time picturing the man who can rip hearts from men’s chests as a doting daddy.”

“I know! It was strange at first but,” she said, sighing wistfully, “trust me it’s bloody adorable.”

Cullen laughed and leaned back to take another sip of wine. Livia was in the midst of retrieving her own glass and just as she was about to take hold of it, Cole appeared perched on the corner of Cullen’s desk right beside Livia’s feet. “You’re the Hawke!”

“Andraste’s flaming knicker weasels!” Livia yelped and, in her shock at the appearance of the strange newcomer, began to fall over backward. Reflexively, Cullen’s hand shot out to steady the glass. Once it was firmly in his hand, he kicked out his left leg and hooked his foot beneath the seat of his desk chair, halting Livia’s descent to the stone floor. As he hauled her upright, they both sighed in relief and Livia took her wine glass only to down its contents in one go.

“Maker’s breath, Cullen! You’ve the reflexes of a parent.”

Cullen gave her an arched look but said nothing, handing her her wine glass instead. “I’m certainly glad I didn’t have a mouthful of Aggregio else Cullen’d be wearing it right now,” she said. “Cole, I presume?”

“Yes! I’ve heard all about you…”

“Yes, I imagine you have,” Hawke said.

“Cole?”

“Yes, Cullen?”

“How many times have we discussed you materializing suddenly in my office? It frightens people.”

“Oh…I’m sorry!” Cole said. He scampered off the edge of the desk and darted out the nearest door, closing it behind him.

“Whatever is he doing?”

“Just wait.”

A knock came at the door a moment later. “Commander Cullen, may I come in? Please?”

“Maker’s breath, Cullen,” Livia muttered, shaking her head. “Teaching manners to Fade spirits? Only you’d do something so… _uptight_.”

“Someone has to institute rules else this place would descend into utter chaos, Livia. And quickly, Maker help me,” he said. “Come in.”

Cole rushed in smiling brightly which set Livia chuckling. “He’s adorable! You know, now that I’ve met him, he reminds me a little bit of Merrill.”

“Varric’s also told me of the Daisy!”

“I imagine you and she would get along swimmingly,” Hawke laughed. “I can certainly see why the Inquisitor keeps him around. He’s a treasure!”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid, but I suppose his…’adorableness,’ as you put it, has something to do with it. Cole, was there something that you wanted?”

“Just to see Hawke,” he said. He stood there smiling and, after a moment, looked down at the floor and began to shuffle his feet and fidget with the hem of his tunic. One of Mnemyn’s mannerisms, he realized.

“And?” Cullen watched as Cole tapped his forefinger on his chin, the elbow of that arm resting in the palm of his other hand. _Doesn’t Josephine make that same gesture when she’s considering something…?_

“…what did Varric say about… oh yes, I remember now,” he said. Looking up with a smile, he turned to Hawke again, “It’s polite to ask someone first before giving them a hug.”

“Oh… well, uhm, sure,” Livia said. As she rose to her feet, she gave Cullen a questioning look to which he shrugged. “Why not?”

As he hugged her, Cole mumbled something in Livia’s ear. Cullen couldn’t quite catch what but, as Livia pulled away from the spirit, he could see her smiling sadly, tears standing in her eyes.

“Thank you, Cole,” she murmured. “I’m glad to know she’s at peace.”

_Leandra. Maker’s breath._

Without so much as another word, Cole disappeared though, this time, both he and Hawke remembered he’d been there. _Strange,_ Cullen mused, _I’ll have to ask Mnemyn about this later._ With a heavy sigh, Livia sank back down in Cullen’s chair. After a moment, she began to chuckle quietly. “I’ll hand it to you, Cullen, things certainly aren’t dull around here.”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his wine. Livia made a thoughtful noise, gesturing with her glass as she spoke. “You know, once this ridiculousness in Crestwood is over, I just may have to come back. Your Inquisitor and I could get up to some serious shenanigans….”

“No.”

“Aww.”

“No, Hawke.”

“Oh come now, Cullen! Think of how much fun that’d be!”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking about. The property damage alone would bankrupt the Inquisition.”

“Oh it’s never that bad…”

“You seem to forget over half of Kirkwall burned during the Qunari invasion, Livia.”

“Pshhh. It needed remolding if it burned so easily,” she said. “So, shall I have Fenris send our things? Do you think we might have our own tower?”

“Absolutely not, Hawke,” he said. “The Inquisitor is more than capable of getting herself into shenanigans well enough on her own, thank you very much.”

Hawke clasped her hands around her wine glass and proceeded to hold them in front of her while she tilted her head to the side. When Cullen still didn’t budge, she began to bat her eyelashes at him sweetly while making an exaggerated pouty face at him. “Please?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re still no fun.”

“And this surprises you how exactly?”

“It shouldn’t,” she said. Smirking she took another long draught of wine. “I’d had hoped you’d mellow a bit in your old age.”

Cullen snorted and shook his head in disbelief but refused to comment, instead downing the last of his wine. He refilled their glasses and they toasted, to old times no less, before lapsing into silence for several minutes, both content to just be in one another’s company for a time. Cullen looked up to see Livia smiling sadly, a look of wistfulness about her expression.

“Do you ever miss it, Cullen?”

“Kirkwall?”

“Our adventures?”

He chuckled wryly, sitting his glass aside so he could cross his arms in front of him. “I suppose I do. Things were simpler then.”

“Maker, yes,” she said, “And we didn’t wake up every morning feeling every damned ache and pain…”

“You’re four years older than I am, Hawke, that’s hardly old,” he reminded her, smirking. “Between you and Rylen, I don’t know who’s worse. I’ve forbidden him from getting older, in fact.”

“You would, you curmudgeon, you,” Hawke laughed. Her expression turned serious after a moment and she seemed to be considering something. “Your second, Rylen, he’s from Starkhaven, isn’t he?”

“Yes, why?”

“I thought so,” she said. Pursing her lips she reached back to brace her hands on the parapet behind her, staring angrily at the ground at her feet. He listened to the torches flickering on the wall as he waited for her to tell him what was wrong. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

_Here it comes._

“There’ve been rumors coming out of Starkhaven…”

“What sort of rumors?”

“Our esteemed friend Prince Sebastian is looking for a wife.”

Cullen snorted, rolling his eyes. “So?”

“He’s set his sights on your Inquisitor.”

Cullen clenched his jaw, so hard, in fact, that Hawke actually flinched. “You’re sure of this?”

“It’s a rumor. Well, not so much as a rumor, more like second hand information. But it’s from a very reliable source.”

“Who?”

“Fenris.”

“Why is your husband in Starkhaven?”

“Aveline sent him…it’s a very long and complicated story. One I’m sure the Inquisition will become involved in shortly, I’m afraid.”

“Maker fucking take him!”

“I take that to mean you haven’t already asked for her hand?” she said. Making a face she tossed her hands in the air. “Of course you haven’t. Maker wept, Cullen! Don’t even think about asking me to deliver sheaves of wheat, any sort of livestock, or copper reliefs of anything, are we clear?”

“What?”

“Oh never mind. Just answer the damned question!”

He swung about to glare at her. “When have I had time to, Hawke?”

“Point taken,” she said. Holding up her hands in a peaceful gesture, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Look, Cullen, I’m sure your ambassador can fix this mess. And, if all else fails, we’ll just send Sister Leliana to assassinate him. And if this Inquisition thing has her too busy, I’m sure I could persuade Isabella to do it. She _hates_ Sebastian. Ohh… now that I think on it, Varric hates him far, far worse. I bet he’d help.”

Despite Livia’s well meaning attempt at humor, Cullen felt his mood sour and he turned back toward his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as a bitter laugh escaped his lips. “If only it were that easy…”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Cullen.”

Cullen shook his head in disbelief for a moment before giving Livia a sardonic smile. “You do realize this more or less solidifies the nickname I gave you long ago, don’t you?”

“’The Harbinger of all bad things ever’? Well, what can I say? A girl’s got to have a hobby.”

Stifling a yawn with his hand, Cullen turned to sit his wine glass aside. When he looked up, Livia rose to her feet and handed him her empty glass. “I should let you get to bed. I’m sure your Inquisitor will be rather upset to find out you didn’t get a wink of sleep because of me. Oh, Maker, that sounded better in my head....”

“I know what you meant, you clown,” he said as he walked her to the door. Always the gentleman, he opened the door so she could go first and she, as always, grinned and ducked under his arm. For the briefest of moments, it did indeed feel like old times. Except this wasn’t his office in Kirkwall and things were far grimmer than usual. Smiling sadly, he watched as Livia turned to wait for him once she’d crossed the threshold. They walked slowly to the nearest stairs, both of them reluctant to part so soon. “Hawke…”

“Yes, Cullen?”

“It was good to see you again.”

She smiled sadly, nodding. “It was good to be seen, Cullen.”

She paused at the top of the stair, glancing over her shoulder. “Promise me something?”

He arched an eyebrow at her and she grinned playfully. “As long as it has nothing to do with nugs and--”

“That was _one_ time! You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“No. But go on, I’m curious now…”

“Please try to be happy. Finding someone who’ll tolerate your _many_ and varied quirks doesn’t happen every day, you know.”

“Yes, well,” he said. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” she said. “Take care of yourself, Cullen.”

He nodded in response, finding himself unable to speak for the lump forming in his throat. _Maker watch over her._

When she’d gone, Cullen decided he needed to blow off some steam and turned to stalk the parapets. Occasionally, he’d pause to pace or rant internally as he tried to figure out some course of action that actually didn’t involve dispatching assassins to Starkhaven. Cassandra found him a short time later and, although he refused to explain why he was angry, he could tell she knew somehow it had to do with the Inquisitor.

“It’ll keep until tomorrow, Cullen,” she said.

“I suppose it will,” said tersely through clenched teeth.

“That was terribly reassuring, Commander.” Cullen growled under his breath at her dry remark and found himself struggling to tamp down the urge to snap at her in frustration.

“You are pushing yourself too far.”

Cullen sighed heavily. She was right. Damn her. She was always right. He gave her a sullen look for several long moments and then shook his head, indicating he’d given in.

“Fine.”

“Cullen.”

“What?”

“If something is bothering you…”

“I’ll deal with it, Cassandra,” he said sharply. When a look of hurt briefly crossed her face – which she quickly schooled away behind her usual veneer of righteous indignation – Cullen felt a pang of regret. Cassandra had been, aside from Varric and, possibly, Hawke, one of his closest friends. She didn’t deserve to be treated so harshly. “I’m sorry, that was unworthy of me. I apologize.”

She tipped him a slight nod and, crossing her arms in front of her, waited for an explanation.

“I trust you’ve heard Hawke was here?”

“Yes,” she said. Cullen winced as he watched her face contort in fury. When she spoke a moment later, her tone icier than a mid-winter blizzard in the Frostbacks, through clenched teeth, he took a tentative step backwards. “I’m going to _kill_ Varric.”

“Yes, well I’m sure he’ll take issue with that.” He snorted, shaking his head. He looked up to see Cassandra looking at him expectantly and leaned back against the wall, glaring at a spot of flagstone at his feet. “She had some bad news to share with me.”

“Oh?”

Cullen tossed his hands up in frustration and turned to stare out over the frozen river below, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he recalled he and Livia’s conversation.

“Apparently, Prince Vael has asked for our Inquisitor’s hand or, at the very least, is planning on it.”

“Andraste’s flaming sword!” Cassandra said. “Are you sure?”

“Livia said Fenris relayed the message to her from Starkhaven. Not that I don’t trust him, but I feel as though I ought to confirm this supposed marriage contract through official channels before acting.”

“T’would be a wise course of action. Going half cocked at Sebastian Vael could be a very dangerous endeavor or, at the very least, a foolish one.”

“Yes, for all we know, he’ll start an Exalted march to avenge his honor,” he said darkly.

Cassandra sighed. “Then you’ve heard the news?”

“What news?”

“He’s about to lay siege to Kirkwall.”

“ _What_?”

“Leliana informs me he wishes to draw Anders out so he may kill him for murdering Grand Cleric Elthina. Apparently, he believes if he lays waste to Kirkwall, Hawke or one of her associates will give him up.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed, “and something we’ll discuss on the morrow. Right now, you should go to bed.”

When he made a disgusted noise and made no move to retire, Cassandra sighed dramatically. And when that still did not provoke the response she wanted, he heard her growl under her breath in annoyance.

“Cullen, it was not a request. Bed. Now.”

He shot her an arch look and was about to protest when her lips curled into a wry smirk. “Or I shall inform the Inquisitor you’re not sleeping again?”

“Maker take you! I’m not a child,” he swore and turned toward the stairs.

“Then stop behaving like one!”

He grouchily returned to the men’s dormitory to find most of their companions still awake. Solas and Dorian sat near one another chatting lightly and reading while Bull, Rylen and Blackwall sat mending clothes and caring for their gear. Varric sat beside the only empty bed in the room, writing.

As Cullen walked in, Varric looked up with a grin. “Curly!”  
  
“Well,” said Dorian, “if it isn’t our illustrious Commander. I’m surprised to see you’ll be joining us.”

Cullen gave him a withering look which earned him a hearty laugh from the Tevinter.

Without a word to anyone, he set about tending to his nightly routine. Noting an armor stand at the foot of his bed he smirked and shot Rylen a knowing look. The Starkhavener feigned innocence for a moment and, after Cullen rolled his eyes, chuckled quietly.

His armor tended to, he sank into the Spartan bed sighing in relief. He’d almost forgotten what sleeping in an actual bed felt like. Not that he’d get much sleep, he knew. He’d become so accustomed to sleeping beside Mnemyn these last few nights, he feared sleeping alone might be impossible now. As he sighed for about the twelve time in as many minutes, draping his arm over his eyes in hopes the shade it provided would help him sleep, someone spoke up to tease him.

“You know, you could just go to her, you know,” Dorian said. There was amusement in his tone. “I believe Lady Montilyet put her up in a room all by her lonesome…”

“Her Ladyship’s always had a room to herself while we lived in Haven.” Blackwall said. “Though I would not be surprised if our esteemed ambassador had a specific reason for doing so.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be terribly shocked if Ruffles did do it on purpose,” Varric said.

“Bah, he’ll never go through with it,” said Bull. “Too worried about appearances.”

“You know, Curly, no one’d fault you for going up there.”

Cullen snorted and shook his head but refused to take the bait. _To the Void with their jibes_.

“Have it your way…but could you keep the sighing down to a minimum please? All this moping is wrecking my creativity,” said Varric.

“Is that what you call it?” Cullen snipped as he flipped over and covered his head with his pillow. He could hear their muffled laughter a second later.

“I suppose if he won’t go to her, one of us could stand in for her,” Dorian teased.

“Oooh,” Bull said. “I’d be up for that. I’m sure the boss wouldn’t mind. Much.”

“With all due respect, if either you decide to canoodle with the Commander, I’m sleeping on the roof,” Blackwall said.

“That’s assuming Cullen allows you within a meter of his person,” Solas said.

Bull rolled his eye and Dorian snorted. “Well, at least it’d smell better in here.”

Turning back to Bull, he continued his earlier thought. “I’d argue it ought to be me. I made my intentions clear well before you did.”

“Are the two of you going to continue to talk about me like I’m not here?” Cullen said in an irritated tone.

“Perhaps,” Dorian said, “but only if you ask nicely.”

“How about it, Commander?” Bull said.

“Yes, I’m dying to know. Would some cuddles help you sleep?” Dorian simpered playfully. “Also, would prefer to the big spoon or the little one?”

Cullen threw his pillow, sending it hurtling at Dorian’s head and, although the mage tried to deflect it, he was laughing far too hard to get his hand up in time. The pillow whapped him in the face with a soft thud and, as it did, the entire dormitory practically reverberated with laughter. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“The two o’ you are awful,” Rylen chuckled. “But hilarious.”

Varric was still laughing, holding his sides. “Oh… the look on his face…”

Cullen leaned up on his elbows and shot his second a sour look. “Thanks, Rylen.”

“Och, lighten up, Commander,” Rylen quipped.

“It’s like I’ve been telling you, Curly,” Varric said, “you need to smile more.”

“And cuddle, apparently,” Dorian said dryly.

Cullen made to reach for his pillow and quickly realized Dorian still had it. Growling, he turned and began to lunge for Varric’s.

“Oh no you don’t!” the dwarf laughed, throwing his pillow over his shoulder to keep it out of Cullen’s hands.

Solas caught it, sighing. “Could the lot of you keep it down? I’m _trying_ to _read_.”

Cullen sighed heavily and flopped back down in his bunk. “I hate all of you…so much.”

When the elf cleared his throat, as if to remind him he hadn’t participated in the whole escapade, Cullen amended his earlier statement flatly. “Except you, Solas.”

Cole suddenly materialized, perching on his headboard with a positively sad look on his face. “I didn’t do anything!”

Cullen put his hands over his face. “Or you, Cole. Maker’s breath!”

With a growl, he smoothly rolled out of his bunk, stomped into his boots and grabbed his blankets before stalking off to find somewhere else, _anywhere_ except Mnemyn’s bed, to sleep. His companion’s uproarious laughter followed him into the stairwell.


	29. Facing down fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** Warning ***
> 
> This chapter contains material relating to PTSD and panic attacks. If this makes you uncomfortable, this chapter is not for you.
> 
> *** Warning ***
> 
> Having received the news of Prince Vael's plans, Cullen finds himself unable to sleep. While he's plotting Sebastian's messy demise, Cole pays him a second visit and insists on helping Cullen with the memories causing his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you everyone for the lovely comments over the last week. I apologize for not responding to each one in kind; the holiday has kept us rather busy! Here's the chapter for this week, enjoy!!!

__ Skyhold, Haring 12, Dragon 9:41  
  


Cullen found himself slouched in his chair, glaring at the desktop. So Sebastian Vael, in his infinite wisdom, decided to not only lay siege to Kirkwall but demand the Herald of Andraste’s hand in marriage. Infuriated, he growled under his breath and got up to pace, muttering about nobility and how much better things would be if there weren’t any. He continued like this for another dozen minutes before a yawn overtook him suddenly and he sank back into his chair feeling exhaustion creep over him. 

He sighed tiredly and glanced toward the door; he couldn’t go back to the men’s dorms. Well, he could but he wasn’t going to. He’d had more than enough jokes told at his expense for one evening. Very briefly, he considered sneaking up to Mnemyn’s quarters but discarded that idea immediately; he hadn’t talked to her about his past and despite how badly he wanted to be with her, he decided he wouldn’t budge on this. 

He turned, glancing ruefully at his desktop as he considered sleeping there but that’d be rather miserable come tomorrow morning. He’d just about resigned himself to sleeping in his chair when there was a knock at his office door.  _ Who in blazes is it at this hour? _ he wondered as he trudged to the door. Outside stood Cole, smiling as he waited to be invited in.

“Hawke’s gone, Cole…”

“I know, I came to see you.”

Cullen sighed and stepped outside. Perhaps if he didn’t invite him in their conversation would be blessedly short. “And why might that be?”

“You’re not angry at them anymore.”

“I wasn’t angry before,” Cullen said.

“You were angry but about something else. But for them you were…what was the word Varric used? Annoyed?”

Cullen arched a brow at the spirit and leaned back against one of the crenellations of the battlement behind him. “Yes, and?”

“I don’t understand why,” Cole said. “They just wanted to see you smile.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and said nothing for a time. “That seems...contradictory to what they were saying, Cole. Perhaps you’re mistaken?”

“I could hear their thoughts all around me. They weren’t loud at all. ‘It’s clear she makes him so happy. I don’t understand why they’re not together. I shall have to pick Varric’s dirty little mind for details tomorrow, perhaps there’s something I may do to help.’”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline, surprise coloring his voice as he answered Cole. “Dorian.”

“‘I think I severely misjudged him before. He certainly has a great deal of honour and respect for Her Worship if he’s willing to put himself through such misery. Good Lad.’”

“Blackwall…?”

“‘If Cullen doesn’t get some ass soon, he’s going to explode. Wonder if Josephine can pull any favours to bring some ladies of the evening from Val Royeaux up here? I’ll ask her at breakfast.’”

Cullen nearly choked. “Maker’s breath, Bull. Remind me to intercede tomorrow before he does so.”

“What are ‘ladies of the evening’?”

“I’ll… explain some other time, Cole,” he said. Shifting uncomfortably, Cullen glanced toward the tower where he knew Mnemyn was sleeping or, at the very least, attempting to. 

“She makes you feel whole. Safe. Strong.”

“Yes.”

“What Uldred did—”

“Please, Cole,” Cullen murmured, “not now.”

“But I want to help you. You’re hurting  _ so _ much…”

“Cole...I--” He sighed, tossing up his hands in resignation. “I don’t understand why you’d want to help me.”

“You helped Mnemyn when she needed it. You protect her. Love her.”

What was his obsession with the Inquisitor? He glanced toward Cole and studied his blank expression. Finding nothing there, Cullen turned to brace his hands against the crenellation to stare out over the mountains as he waited to see if Cole would elaborate.

“She’s like me.”

Cullen turned his head to scrutinize the spirit, confused. “W-what?”

“She only wants to help,” Cole said. The young man furrowed his brow and then turned to point at Mnemyn’s tower and then turned back to him, frowning. “You said you didn’t want her to turn out like you. But you are a good man, Cullen, you just can’t see past your hurt. You are solid, strong, honourable. And you love her so much… it almost hurts how much.”

Cullen had no words with which to answer the spirit so he just smiled sadly, nodding as he looked out over the river valley beyond. “The pain you spoke of, it is mine to deal with.”

“Iron Bull said you didn’t have to suffer alone. And you shouldn’t. It makes the hurt worse; you know it does.”

_ That conversation was nearly two weeks prior, _ he thought,  _ and Cole was nowhere to be seen. Maker’s breath, I guess he’s around even if we can’t see him.  _ Feeling a lump forming in his throat, Cullen swallowed hard and had to look away. After a moment to compose himself, he answered Cole in a quiet, emotion strained voice. “I do. It’s never been easy for me to ask for help.”

Cole frowned, “Ellendra knows you don’t hate her. Alistair knows, too. They worry....”

Cullen blinked and turned to face him, “How do you—”

“Your hurt, it touches theirs… and Wynne’s. Although she’s gone now.”

“Maker’s breath…when?”

“The White Spire. When Lord Seeker Lambert tried to kill everyone. She saved my friend Knight-Captain Evangeline but after, Wynn died....

“I looked for Wynne’s friends. I…couldn’t reach you. So much anger and… templars. Meredith. Fear. Misery….”

Cole shivered and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. One of Sera’s mannerisms, Cullen realized. “Instead, I found the Warden-Commander. To tell her.”

At the mention of Ellendra and Wynne, the lump returned to his throat and Cullen had to shut his eyes for a moment. How often had he wanted to tell her how sorry he was for the horrible things he said to her? But the nightmares which plagued him nightly, relentlessly taunting and torturing him with her image, kept the pain of that ordeal fresh and he never could seem to bring himself to send any of the letters he’d written to her. In fact, he’d kept every one of them which sat tied in a neat bundle at the bottom of his dufflebag. Another regret. Another shame.

“She says she’s sorry, Cullen.”

He shook his head and looked back out over the valley, tears stinging his eyes. “For what, Cole? She has nothing to be sorry for.”

“For not stopping what happened. Tears stinging my eyes, stomach roiling, shock at seeing him in so much pain. I try to reach out to him but he recoils from me, spouting such hateful things. My heart is breaking. My kind, sweet, gentle Cullen…how could someone do something so barbaric to you? Rage. White hot. I will end Uldred for this. He will pay.”

Cullen felt his throat tighten and his heart began to race.  _ I mustn’t give into fear, _ he thought as a cold sweat broke on his brow. It took every ounce of mental fortitude to keep the images of the torture he endured at bay. He clenched his teeth as a great weight settled on his chest, he knew he was close to hyperventilating and was helpless to stop it. As wave of vertigo washed over him, he felt thankful he’d braced himself against the crenellation moments ago because it was that piece of stone that was the only thing standing between him and the flagstone floor of the wall-walk. 

“Let it go,” Cole said softly. 

Cullen shook his head, swallowing hard as he stood staring at the flagstone. He had to calm down. He felt tears slide down his cheeks and then fall to the stone below. Time seemed to stand still as he stood there, his emotions roiling while he continued fighting to breathe. It felt as though he were inside the walls of the magical prison again, though this time the thing was constricting around him. 

“Cullen,” Cole said. He felt the spirit placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, perhaps trying to ground him in the moment. “You  _ are _ strong. She believes in you.”

Immediately, his mind settled on Mnemyn; she was smiling brightly at him, as she often did, her hand on his cheek. No sooner than he’d focused on her, his panic began to recede by bits until, finally, he was able to breathe freely again. He stood there, his eyes screwed shut and his head bowed, for quite a few minutes while he collected himself.

“Do you feel better?”

“A bit...yes,” he said. Swallowing hard again, he pushed off the crenellation and scrubbed his hands over his face and back into his hair as he blew out a long breath.

“Good. I helped untie some of the little snags… but there are much bigger snarls to deal with. It will take time...”

Cullen let out a shaky sigh and, noticing his hands were shaking like a leaf, crossed his arms over his chest for lack of anything better to do. Emotionally wrung out, the only answer he could give Cole was a tired nod.

The spirit smiled. “Varric says it’s good to be useful…”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” Cullen said. Silence descended between them now but, somehow, Cullen felt more at peace now than he had in a very long time. Frowning, he moved to stand closer to the door - somehow it made him feel safer - and, as he leaned back, one last niggling question would not leave him be. Why did Ellendra feel responsible? She’d been recruited by the Grey Wardens - an honorable appointment in his mind - and that was nothing to feel guilty over. The only thing he could surmise was perhaps because the tower was her home, she felt as though she should’ve been there to defend it and everyone who lived there.

“She always believed you and Wynne would have helped her win. She had faith in you,” Cole said. He moved to stand closer to him now, looking up at him with such a sad expression. Could Cole feel what he was feeling? What he felt on a daily basis? He let out a sigh.  _ More questions than answers, as usual. Such is my life. _

“Wynne believed in you, too. Leliana told me…not to tell you about Wynne but I thought you needed to know.”

Cullen’s gaze jerked up and he focused on Cole’s face, his eyes wide with surprise. The spirit smiled sadly and began to shrink away and Cullen immediately realized his were eyes focused on a point somewhere past him. Before he could ask exactly what he’d meant by that, the woman who was their topic of discussion slinked from the shadows. “Yes, I was at the White Spire, Commander. I am…sorry I did not tell you before. I was there at the Divine’s behest.”

Turning slowly, Cullen gave the Nightingale a look of annoyance.  _ Of course she’d had a hand in it _ , he thought. He scrutinized her for several long minutes and, as the pieces slowly began to fall into place, he felt his anger rise. This was dangerous territory and he was far from prepared for it. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he opted to ask few questions, which he knew she’d be expecting in the hopes that he wouldn’t raise her suspicion. “So when you said you wished to know why he was here…?”

“A lie, yes. I already knew Cole to be trustworthy beyond measure.”

“Why the subterfuge? If you’d just said—”

She smiled wryly. “Old habits, I suppose. Although it could be argued that had I told the truth, there was a very high probability you would not have believed me nor listened; you were convinced Cole was the root of Mnemyn’s behavior and would hear nothing to the contrary. You had to find out for your own.” 

“Are you saying you had something to do with her going to the Temple that night?” he asked, incredulous.

He watched as Leliana’s face drained of expression, her blue-grey eyes focused on him as though she were seeing right through him.  _ She doesn’t see us as people, does she? Just pieces in her grand game.  _ He raised his eyebrows indicating he wanted an answer and in response she shrugged and gestured casually with her hand as if manipulating Mnemyn was a simple, everyday matter. “I may have mentioned something to that effect to Cole.”

“She needed you…only you,” Cole said softly. That much had been abundantly clear since that night, but the question remained: how or why did Leliana chose to get involved. Cole was brutally truthful and, thus, Cullen needn’t worry about his motives. On the other hand, after Cole’s revelation, Leliana’s motives should clearly be questioned and scrutinized from here on out. 

“It would seem our fates are inexplicably tied, Sister Nightingale.”

“You said that before, if I recall correctly. When Cassandra first brought you to Haven.” Leliana smiled sadly as she remembered the moment. “I only wish there was less tragedy, my friend.”

“I can assure you, you’re not the only one who wishes that.” Cullen snorted and scrubbed his hands over his face and then into his hair. “I have the worst luck.”

“You have a chance to change your fortune,” she said. 

He turned away again, his mind reeling and his stomach roiling. How many other things had Leliana had a hand in in his life? Did she have something to do with the Order sending him away from Greenfell to Kirkwall in the wake of the events at Kinloch hold? He was aware she was watching him closely now and sighed. He had to say something. “Yes, I suppose I do. And I shall… consider my options.”

“You know, I do my best not to intervene,” she said. Her voice was whisper soft now and she moved to stand even with him. He regarded her evenly, keeping his expression schooled to that of calm indifference. Leliana smiled now and he noted for the first time, that it didn’t reach her eyes. “Though I will admit it’s been difficult not to where love is involved.”

Cullen nodded in agreement. “A lofty cause, love.”

This was almost too much to process. Wynne was dead. Ellendra blamed herself for Kinloch. And she did care. Once. Maker’s breath, what a fool he’d been for refusing to speak to her all these years. And then there was the fact that he now knew Leliana had been manipulating him and, possibly, Mnemyn for months. To what end? What could she possibly hope to gain?

“Everything Cole told you is true. You are a good person, Cullen,” she said. Gently, she threaded her arm through his and they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the moonlight dancing on the frozen river below. “The Maker smiles upon us, his children, and although we cannot guess his plan, I know he works through each one of us. I believe he has set me on this path – tangled our fates, as you say; just as he did with Ellendra so long ago – to help set what went wrong right again.”

He said nothing for some time, merely listening to the winter stillness as snow began to fall softly around them. Was this why Mnemyn loved winter so? There was such serenity in the cold. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Cole had set him on a new path tonight and he wasn’t entirely certain he was strong enough to walk it. He was on the precipice of a decision and one that would not be easy to make. He could remain rooted in the past - let it continue to rule or, possibly, destroy him - or he could take the help that was being offered to him, so lovingly by so many people, and attempt to heal and move forward.

“You’re right, Leliana.”

“About a great many things, yes,” she said. He could hear the mirth in her voice and turned to see her giving him a spritely smile. “But what specifically, pray tell?”

A wry laugh escaped him as he gathered his thoughts. “I can’t change the past...but the future is full of promise.”

She smiled and gave him a nod before she unthreaded their arms and drifted away toward the nearest stairs. “You should go back to your tower. I can predict you’ll find everything you require for a restful sleep in the loft above that room, Commander.”

“My tower, what are you…?” he said. But she was already gone and he watched as Cole smiled before disappearing a moment later. “Maker’s breath… ”

He sighed and retreated to his office, scrutinizing the ladder which led to the loft above for some minutes. The last time he’d been up there he found nothing but dust, debris and a hole in the roof. If what she hinted at was true, how had she managed to get bedding up there without his notice? He’d been in his office almost constantly since the desk had arrived. 

The only thing he could figure was she’d somehow managed it while he’d been at dinner or while they were in the war room. Sometimes he wondered if Leliana was actually a mage; there were no other explanations for some of the things she did. He sighed and decided that was a mystery for another day. Slowly and tiredly, he climbed up to the loft and, as he climbed onto the decking, began to laugh when he saw what she’d left for him. In the center of the room sat a bed for two, already made up with sheets, blankets and pillows in shades of all the colors she knew he loved; maroons, golds, and rich browns. The colors of Ferelden in the fall. He shook his head in amazement. 

As he stood there staring at his new accommodations he wondered what Mnemyn would think of his choice of quarters. He sighed miserably, shaking his head. If Prince Vael had his way, she’d never find out. How in the void was he going to get her out of this short of challenging a prince to a duel? 

Just as he was about to sink into his new bed, his thoughts fraught with worry, he heard the door to the tower open and close followed closely after by slippered feet padding across the stone floor.  _ Maker have mercy! I’ll get no sleep tonight if this keeps up. _

“Cullen?”

He poked his head over the edge of the entry to his loft and was surprised to see Mnemyn standing at the foot of his ladder, clothed in pajamas and wrapped in a robe.

“Mnemyn, what are you doing here? How did you even know--?”

“Cole,” she said. “I...well, I couldn’t sleep.”

He couldn’t help but smile and motioned for her to climb up. “He seems to be making the rounds tonight…”

“Oh?”

“It’s… a bit of a tale,” he said. He offered her a hand up as she reached the top and pulled her gently into his arms. Hearing how uncomfortable he sounded, she responded by nuzzling closer to him and rubbing his back soothingly.

“What happened?”

“The first time he visited, he wanted to see Hawke,” Cullen said.

“Hawke called on you? Did you have a nice visit?”

“Yes...mostly.”

“Oh no,” she said. “You didn’t quarrel did you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said. “She, uhm, well she had some bad news for me--well, us.”

“Oh?”

With a heavy sigh, Cullen pulled back to look her in the eye. “Apparently Sebastian Vael has...well, he’s sent a marriage contract to your father.”

Mnemyn snorted and then began to laugh. At his odd look, she clapped a hand over her mouth and blushed sheepishly. 

“That’s not exactly the reaction I thought that news would provoke from you,” he said.

“My family has never particularly gotten along with the Vaels. I was betrothed to him once already, in fact.”

“What?”

“Both of us being third born, neither of us were destined to inherit so our parents thought it wise to arrange a marriage between us,” she said. “Well, father approved. Mother was...vehemently against it or so the story goes. Anyway, when my magic manifested, they swiftly rescinded the contract.”

“I see flippancy and waffling runs in the family….”

She chortled, tugging him back into a warm embrace. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“So you’re not concerned?”

“It’s troublesome but I’m sure we’ll find a way ‘round it,” she said, “besides, I have my sights set on someone else....”

“Anyone I know?”

She laughed and gently pinched his arm. “Yes. He’s apparently quite a clown -- well, at least in private anyway.” 

Cullen chuckled and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Don’t spread that around; I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Perish the thought,” she quipped. “Bed?”

“Maker, yes, I’m dead on my feet.”

She arched up on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good night…”

Slipping gently from his arms, Mnemyn turned back toward the ladder and made to leave. Thinking quickly, he caught her by the elbow. “You could stay here...if you’d like.”

“Oh I--” she said. Off her confused look, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point out the new furniture. Blinking she arched up on her toes and looked past him to see where he was pointing. “I didn’t see any of that...I guess I was, uhm, rather preoccupied with you when I came in.”

Cullen smiled in a most self-satisfied way which earned him a gentle shove from Mnemyn. “You know what I meant, you lout. When did you do all this?”

“I had nothing to do with this,” he said with a laugh. “This is Leliana’s doing.”

Mnemyn smiled and hugged his side. “We have such thoughtful friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

He hesitated only a moment, deciding he’d refrain from commenting on account of his suspicions about Leliana for the time being. Instead, he took her hand in his and gently tugged her toward the bed. The radiant and positively joyous smile she gave him sent tingles of delight arcing down his spine and across his skin. 

They soon settled into bed with Cullen laying somewhat more to the middle of the mattress and Mnemyn cuddled against his side, her head pillowed on his chest. He sighed happily - this felt not only normal but so incredibly right - and soon, both he and Mnemyn had drifted off to sleep. 


	30. A leisurely morning...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Hawke's revelation, Cullen awakes to find Mnemyn leaving before dawn. He convinces her to stay a little longer and, much to his surprise, a playful bout of cuddling turns into a romp between the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you for being so patient with me! Fear not! I have not abandoned the story, it's just taken a bit longer to write and edit this chapter because school has kept me *extremely* busy. 
> 
> To make it up to you, I've prepared a rather saucy chapter. Enjoy! :)

_Haring 13, Dragon 9:41_

* * *

 

The following morning, Cullen awoke to Mnemyn pressing a kiss to his forehead. He opened his eyes and was greeted with a serene and contented smile from the woman he loved. “Good morning.”

“And to you,” he said.

She gently ran her fingers through his sleep mussed hair, canting her head to the side as she teased several thick, golden curls together. He gave her a lopsided grin and then took one of her hands in his own, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Where are you off to so early? It’s not even dawn…”

“I thought perhaps...I should, well, _go_. I don’t wish to embarrass you.”

Cullen snorted and held up the covers so she could climb back into bed. “To the Void with what anyone thinks. Come back to bed.”

When she hesitated, clearly unsure, Cullen’s smile turned to a smirk. “You know, I’m much warmer than it is out there….”

“Hmm… you make a compelling argument, Ser,” she said. Pretending to muse, she tapped an index finger on her chin and hummed. And, as she did so, her gaze flitted to the ceiling where she immediately noticed the gaping hole in his roof. “Maker’s breath, Cullen. There’s a blighted hole in your--eep!”

Before she could finish her thought, he reached out and hooked his arm about her waist. When he was sure he had a firm grip on her, he tugged her firmly back against his side. “Yes, I know. I’ll...have someone fix it later. Right now, all I want to think about is kissing you.”

As soon as he’d pulled her close enough, he began to pepper her neck with playful kisses which set her squirming and giggling loudly. “Cullen, that tickles!”

“Yes, I know,” he said.

“That’s… not fair!”

“I beg to differ!” Grinning, he nuzzled her neck with the stubble of his jaw and felt a shiver of delight pass through her. “I’m using my knowledge of your weaknesses to gain the advantage.”

“I’m so glad to hear kissing me is a military operation,” she said through peals of laughter. “I suppose next you’ll tell me your objective is to lay siege to me.”

Cullen froze, he couldn’t help but groan softly at the mental image. “Is that what you--I mean to say...uhm....”

Mnemyn stilled and began to pull away from him. He felt his chest tighten and, thinking he’d upset her, attempted to apologize. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“Cullen,” she said. She rolled over to face him and cupped his cheek with her palm, the pad of her thumb stroking his cheekbone tenderly. “I _want_ to be with you.”

To emphasize her point, she reached down and caught the hem of his tunic and gently tugged him closer. Not enough to pull them flush with her, though. Just enough to indicate her meaning without making him feel uncomfortable, he guessed, should he not feel the same way.

In that moment, all Cullen’s doubt melted away and, his heart thundering in his chest, he leaned in to kiss her passionately. This was it. Today they’d finally consummate their relationship after months of flirting and waiting in agonizing silence. And Cullen was bound and determined to make this a morning to remember.

The next few minutes were all hands and lips seeking purchase on whatever bits of exposed flesh they could find. This flurry of sensual exploration was frequently punctuated by breathy moans whenever they found a pleasurable spot on one another’s bodies. Cullen discovered a particularly rewarding spot beneath Mnemyn’s right ear which set her squirming in delight.

“D’you like that?” He murmured against her skin.

“Oh Maker, _yes_.” There was a definite sultriness to her voice that sent chills of delight down his spine. He could hear her breathing raggedly, her breath spilling across his left ear as he nuzzled the spot once more. This elicited a whine from her and Mnemyn dragged one of his hands up to cup her breast. Cullen chuckled at her impatience and indulged her for a moment before leaning back to catch her lips in a deep, languid kiss. As their kiss grew more impassioned, he gently eased her onto her back and rolled on top of her.

He grinned against her lips and swallowed a particularly breathy moan as she felt his erection pressing against her hip. In response, she wound her fingers into his hair while her other hand slid down his side, grasping at his hip in an attempt to pull him closer. Encouraged, Cullen rolled his hips, grinding himself against the warmth of her core which set them both moaning into one another’s mouths.

After a few more moments of wanton kissing, Mnemyn growled, tugging at his shirt. “Off with this….”

With mild reluctance, Cullen rolled off to the side before they both scrambled to their knees. Now upright, they both reached for one another to share another heated, nearly frantic kiss before beginning to disrobe. In one fluid movement, Cullen peeled off his night shirt and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder.

Mnemyn, who was in the process of shimmying out of her robe, stopped dead to stare at his naked torso. He watched as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing on it as she unabashedly admired him. When she’d met his gaze finally, he smirked and arched a brow at her.

“That’s the second time you’ve looked at me so,” he said, “I didn’t realize I was...uhm…”

“Alluringly handsome? Unbelievably attractive? Absolutely perfect?” She supplied.

Cullen found himself blinking at her compliments and, as he felt a blush burning across his cheeks, he reached back to rub his neck. “I--well, I didn’t…”

In the mildly awkward silence that followed, Mnemyn slid a little closer, dragging her fingers across his collarbone and down the center of his chest.

“You’re far too humble,” she said quietly. “Your body has been honed by years of training and battle. You’re as much a weapon as your sword is. Deadly and irresistible…”

She’d drawn flush with him now, her breath spilling across his lips as she spoke - her voice nearly auditory embodiment of desire and her beautiful blue-green eyes darkened with lust. He growled in response and leaned in to kiss her heatedly, his hands making purchase on her hips, and pulled her firmly against his body.

Just as he was about to strip her out of her nightshirt and small clothes and ease her back onto the bed to have his wicked way with her, one of the doors to the tower swung open below them with a loud creak. Instantly, they both froze, staring in shock into one another’s eyes before Cullen let loose a deep growl deep of frustration at the intrusion.

“Maker’s breath,” Mnemyn muttered, dropping her forehead to rest on his shoulder in defeat.

Just as Cullen was about to chew whomever it was up one side and down the other when Kayleigh’s voice floated up to them from the doorway. “Commander?”

He sighed realizing who it was and felt his anger ebb slightly; he couldn’t yell at her for doing her job. On the other hand, had it been Jim, well, it’d been a different story altogether.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you but, uhm, I was sent by Seeker Pentaghast. She’d like a word with you at your earliest convenience. To...to discuss the topic of conversation you had with her last evening.”

Cullen dropped his head back onto his pillow and stared at the hole in ceiling for a moment. _And she couldn’t wait until after breakfast for this? Maker’s breath…._ “Tell her….”

As he was beginning to give her his answer, Mnemyn interrupted by nipping at his earlobe. He hesitated, nearly shivering as her breath spilled across the shell of his ear and over his neck. “Stay in bed. Just this once…”

He paused to consider her request and, as he heard Kayleigh draw hesitantly closer to the ladder, he reached to still Mnemyn who was now trailing insistent and increasingly intense kisses along his jaw and neck. “Tell her I’ll be along in a half hour or so. I have a meeting with the Inquisitor which cannot wait.”

“O-okay… I mean, yes Commander.”

They listened as the young woman hurried off, closing the door solidly behind her. When she was sure she was out of earshot, Mnemyn let out a breathy laugh against his neck. “A meeting with me?”

“It’s not entirely untrue,” he said. Grinning, he cupped her cheek, angling her chin upwards so he might kiss her breathless once again. “Now, where were we?”

He was reaching for the hem of her satin nightshirt, dragging the pads of his fingers slowly up her thighs, when Mnemyn pulled back slightly, grinning like a cat who’d swallowed a canary. He arched both brows at her, curious as to what she was thinking and, before he could ask, she eased him back onto the bed. He’d begun to prop himself up on his elbows, intending to playfully protest, when she straddled his hips.

He groaned deeply, closing his eyes as the sopping wet heat of her cunt came to rest against his erection. _Maker’s breath…._

He felt her shift and his hips twitched in response, rolling upwards to grind his cock against her core. Mnemyn gasped and then groaned, biting her lower lip as she arched against him in response. He found all he could do was stare up at her, bathed in the pearlescent light of predawn, she looked like a shadowy goddess of lust.

He could hear himself panting and, in that moment, realized he couldn’t wait much longer. As he began to reach for her, she grinned and captured his hands before pinning them to the bed on either side of his head. He blinked slowly as she leaned down to kiss him while wantonly grinding herself against his erection.

When she began to pull away, his lower lip captured gingerly between her teeth for a moment before letting it spring back into place. He groaned in response and found himself whining in protest as she continued to slowly retreat. Grinning, she leaned back to gently place an index finger on his and, in one fluid movement, eased back on her haunches. Cullen drew in a deep breath, feeling the wet heat of her cunt pressing more firmly against his cock, sending a shudder of pleasure through him.

Mnemyn grinned and Cullen felt his mouth go dry as she gave him a deliciously wicked grin. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity and watched as she dropped her hands to the hem of her satin nightshirt. His eyes went wide as he realized what she meant to do.

Grinning almost giddily, he dropped his hands to rest on her thighs for a moment before slowly dragging his fingertips upwards to hook them under the hem of her nightgown, dragging it upwards ever so slowly. Mnemyn watched him intently through her lashes, clearly enjoying his expression as more of her body was exposed to him.

When he’d finally drawn the silken fabric up to her waist, Mnemyn gave him a sly wink and then peeled the garment off over her head. He lay there staring at her breathlessly - she was nearly naked, wearing nothing but her smalls - and was vaguely aware she’d flung the nightshirt gleefully over her shoulder.

“Sweet Maker, have mercy…”

Mnemyn’s cheeks immediately flushed at his compliment, dropping her gaze down and away. He reached up and gently pulled her back down to him, enveloping her lips in a steamy kiss. As the hardened peaks of her nipples grazed the sparse, springy hairs of his chest, Mnemyn let out a deep moan of pleasure. And, as it reverberated through him, Cullen felt as though he could wait no longer.

He sat up, taking her with him, and wrapped her legs about his waist before flipping them in one swift movement. She gasped and clung to him and, as she began to fall back to the bed, he reached up to support her head to ensure she made a soft landing. She smiled at the tender gesture then gasped as his cock ground hard against her belly thanks to his acrobatics.

Cullen leaned down, propping himself up on his left elbow as he stared into her eyes. A ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his lips as he placed a tender, almost reverent kiss to her lips. Before she could coax him into a deeper kiss however, he began trailing sweet, gentle kisses down her jaw and the column of her neck pausing to nuzzle the sensitive skin there with the stubble of his chin.

He felt her squirm and whimper in delight but, instead of continuing to tease her, he dragged his tongue along her clavicle before turning to kiss down the center of her chest. He paused once he reached the valley of her breasts to look up at her and was pleased to see her staring breathlessly at him in anticipation. 

Cullen flicked his gaze to Mnemyn’s right breast before looking back up at her, smiling wolfishly. In response, Mnemyn bit her lip and threw her head back, groaning in frustration. He turned his head and chuckled, feeling her squirm beneath him as his breath ghosted across her already hardened nipple.

“O-oo-ohh!” She nearly shouted as he encircled the pebbled flesh of her nipple with his mouth. He grinned as her hips jerked involuntarily when he began to suck on the sensitive flesh. A moment later, she dug her hands into his hair. He dropped his free hand to her right thigh and drew her leg around his middle, grinning against the sensitive flesh of her breast as the hard jut of his cock ground against her own arousal. 

The sounds he wrung out of her in the following moments stoked his own desires ever higher, his breathing ragged and a slight sweat breaking on his brow. He could hear her breaths coming in harsh, jagged pants and he realized a few more minutes of tender attention would send her over the edge of a particularly strong climax. He leaned back to see her arched against him.

He withdrew, trailing heated kisses down her torso while his hands fell to her hips. She glanced down at him with a wicked grin, propping herself up on her elbow looking at once satisfied and expectant. He grinned up at her and, as he began to tug her smalls down she arched off the bed to allow him to strip them off her. In one swift movement, Cullen tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder before lowering himself to the mattress between her legs.

Mnemyn stared at him, incredulous, clearly unsure of what he meant to do. To reassure her and, perhaps, intrigue her further, he planted several tender kisses on the insides of her thighs and was encouraged when she widened them slightly for him. Cullen smiled, keeping eye contact with her as he wound his arms around her thighs, gently coaxing her heels up and back toward the end of the bed until the backs of her knees came to rest on his shoulders. She was absolutely still now and he could barely hear her breathing. With another grin, he leaned down to press a kiss just above the apex of her labia. She blinked as he gently parted her tender flesh and then gasped softly as he dragged his tongue slowly across her clitoris.

Her hips jerked sharply but he held her firmly but gently in place as he continued to tease her clit with the tip of his tongue. Only when she threw her head back, a breathy moan of satisfaction escaping her beautiful lips, did he begin to suck gently at the sensitive bud. This, of course, had the exact effect he’d hoped for, sending her keening and arching off the mattress, his name shouted in surprise and what he thought sounded like elation to the heavens above.

He continued his tender ministrations until Mnemyn was teetering on the edge, her hands wound into the sheets on either side of her thighs. He wanted nothing more than to give her as much pleasure as he could possibly manage but found himself yearning to see her expression as she finally climaxed. Slowly, he withdrew to sit back on his heels which immediately provoked a frustrated whimper of protest from Mnemyn. He gently shushed her with a kiss and as her mouth was occupied, he reached down to begin massaging circles around her clitoris with his free hand.

“ _Cullen!_ ”

 _She’s so close_.

Grinning, he switched hands and drew his index and middle fingers into his mouth. She stared at him, mouth slightly agape at this gesture, and then whined in delight as he gently slid his fingers into the molten warmth of her cunt. After giving her a moment to adjust to this new sensation, he returned to stroking her clit watching as her hips arched off the bed and she began to buck against his hand.

He watched as she drew in a deep breath, her entire body going rigid. She grit her teeth, her hips bucking wantonly against his hand as she climaxed hard. He smiled as he watched the look of sheer ecstasy settle across her features. She was keening and moaning his name. Her thighs slammed shut and he watched as she rode his hand to completion.

Finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and panting heavily for air. As she was coming back to herself, he slipped out of his smalls and pajama pants before gingerly parting her legs to settle between her thighs.

“Maker’s breath…” she murmured. “You…you’re very talented…”

She leaned up to catch his lips in a deep, languid kiss while she twined her legs about his waist. He chuckled against her lips, dragging his right hand along her thigh temptingly.

“I’m pleased to know you enjoyed my…performance…”

Mnemyn blushed for a moment and then realized something. “Wh-what about—?”

“Me?” Cullen said. He smiled enigmatically for a beat or two and then rolled his hips, making sure she felt the tip of his cock teasing the slick entrance of her cunt.

“Oh!” she said, blinking. “I—am I even…I don’t know if I can…”

The blush of her cheeks had turned from rose to deep crimson now and Cullen smiled at how flustered she was. It was not only endearing but adorable. He imagined her encounters with sex were brief, likely in some quiet and off the beaten path corner of her Circle’s tower. Hasty little affairs where completion of the deed – done quietly so the templars wouldn’t hear – was the participants’ primary concern.

He leaned in to kiss her gently, murmuring his answer against her lips. “I can assure you, you can…if you wish to.”

She ducked her head slightly, a sheepish gesture. “You must think I’m—”

“A mage who’s never had the privilege of leisurely relations with her lover? Yes. I, well…I figured as much. And I assure you, you’ll never have to hurry or wonder again. I mean…that is…if that’s what you choose...”

She smiled broadly and hugged her to him, pressing a tender kiss against his cheek. “I do choose it—I mean _you_. Maker’s breath! I can’t honestly recall the last time I was so…tongue tied….”

Cullen chuckled and pressed his lips against her ear. “An interesting choice of words all things considered…”

She laughed and watched him with such adoration as he leaned back to look down into her eyes. He smiled as she cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing his cheekbone lovingly. Chewing her lip, she gave him a small, bashful nod to indicate she was ready. Before he could move, however, she shyly reached down between them and gently guided his cock inside her warmth. Cullen found himself holding held his breath as he watched her expression closely and was pleased to see it change from one of bashfulness to that of pleasure and then abject wonder as he sheathed his cock inside her cunt.

The sensation was nearly overwhelming and he dropped his chin to his chest, eyes shut tight as he fought at once to both process the sensation of being inside her and to keep his desires in check. He wanted this to be memorable and, if he wasn’t careful, their lovemaking would be over before it began.

The feel of her moving beneath him. The intense, moist warmth of her cunt. The noises she was making. It was all so incredibly amazing.

After a few more thrusts, he found himself wanting more. And neither thrusting faster nor harder, he realized, would satisfy him.

He leaned back slightly, shifting his weight to his right arm while slipping his left under her right leg, hoisting it into a ninety-degree angle. She gasped as he thrust again, this time driving deeper than before. They moaned, both clearly deeply pleased by this new position.

He watched as she reached up to thread her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. He smiled, noticing her blue-green eyes were lust darkened, her beautiful lips parted as she moaned his name. Right now, nothing existed but he and this beautiful, wanton creature.

He could feel his climax building at the head of his shaft, urging him forward. Soon. Cullen closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

Flesh slapping against flesh. Ragged breathing. Wanton kisses. Hands everywhere. Mnemyn whimpering in delight.

Cullen drove himself into Mnemyn’s cunt faster and deeper. And the more he thrust, the delicious sensation of her – of them together – drove him to crave more. Closer. He had to get closer.

Sweat trickled down his back. He could feel Mnemyn’s nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder blades. Her raven hair was sweat soaked. Sweat beaded on her shoulders. Her breasts. Her breaths were jagged now and he could feel her tensing. Strung like a bow pulled taught.

Another thrust and she gasped sharply, shuddering, her climax finally overtaking her.

_Maker’s breath she’s a vision to behold. So beautiful._

He slowed slightly as she writhed, sobbing his name in release. When he felt her begin to relax, he resumed his earlier pace. He could feel his thrusts becoming stuttering and harsh. Reflex taking over. And then he drove into her, his own climax overtaking him.

He dropped his chin to his chest, growling deep in his throat as he spilled into her warm, wet cunt with shuddering, stilted thrusts. It was almost too much. He felt himself cry out her name, every nerve ending dancing, exploding with exquisite ecstasy.

As blood began to rush back to his head, Cullen toppled forward dizzily. He let go of her leg and managed to brace himself onto his elbows, staring dazedly and dropped his head to her shoulder, panting hard. Beneath him, he could feel Mnemyn coming back to herself.

She curled around him, drawing her legs about his waist to keep his cock deep inside her, humming contentedly to herself. After another blissful moment, he felt her snake her left arm around his back, trailing gentle, soothing circles with the pads of her fingertips while her other hand stroked his sweat dampened curls.

They lay in one another’s arms for quite some time, murmuring tender words to one another in the wake of their lovemaking. Finally, when his biceps felt as though they would spontaneously combust from strain, Cullen murmured an apology before gingerly rolling off her. Mnemyn sighed heavily as he pulled away, clearly disappointed at the loss of their intimate contact. He smiled and took one of her hands in his before pressing a gentle kiss in her palm and was promptly rewarded with a tender smile and a sigh of contentment.

As he lay beside her, sprawled across his bed, the light peeking through the hole in his roof caught his attention. Looking up, he realized it was just slightly before dawn. Normally, he’d have bounded out of bed swearing and rushing to get ready. But still winded and completely sated, he found the only place he wanted to be was here in bed with Mnemyn. Smiling at that realization, Cullen glanced over to look at Mnemyn and was not only delighted but awestruck at the sight of her sweat slicked body. She was so beautiful.

And, as he lay there admiring her, he came to a realization: he’d be damned if he’d let Sebastian Vael have her.

Possessiveness surged through him now and he pulled her into his arms, cuddling her against him as he drew the covers over them both. She murmured a protest weakly and, when he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, she sighed her protest forgotten as he rubbed her back soothingly.

They dozed for a few dozen minutes, until Mnemyn mock exasperatedly declared Cassandra’d either send a search party or march herself into his bedroom if they didn’t get moving soon. He agreed that wasn’t something either of them would enjoy so, reluctantly, he relented and they both began preparing for the day.

When she’d dressed, wrapped in her satin nightshirt and robe, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her longingly.

“I’ll see you at the morning meal?”

“Of course,” he said.

She smiled, cupping his cheek as she looked upon him fondly. He smiled in return and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “My aids will be here any moment…”

With a heavy sigh she nodded and leaned up to give him one last, lingering kiss goodbye. Without another word, she slipped from his arms and was down the ladder. A moment later, he heard the southern tower door open and shut. She was gone. But not for good. And, with any luck, they’d find some way to be together again soon. He suspected if Mnemyn had her way, that’d be later tonight.

With a sigh, he went about buckling into his armor. He knew Cassandra was likely fuming somewhere – possibly even pacing impatiently – and to keep her waiting any longer would be at his own peril. After a few more moments of hurried preparation, he donned his cloak and, humming contentedly to himself, set off to find her.


	31. Subterfuge and an Unlikely suitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and the Inquisitor's friends tease him gently for their late night activities, Cassandra gives Cullen some interesting correspondence, and the Commander devises a way to allow Mnemyn to save face when rejecting Prince Vael's marriage proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo everyone. I am so, so sorry this has taken so long to post. Things have been kind of crazy as of late. My spouse has been home from deployment for a bit now and we've found he has a really weird work schedule. Between that, the end of my school term, a huge backlog of errands/chores, and getting a new puppy, I've had no time to write. (Much like our beloved Commander, I love dogs!) Anyway, here's the next chapter and, now that things are slowly returning to normal, I should resume posting once per week. Enjoy and happy Friday to you all! Thank you for your patience and your comments of encouragement.

_Haring 13, Dragon 9:31_

Cullen made his way to the little corner of the upper bailey between the smithy and the Herald’s rest Cassandra usually frequented. As he rounded the corner of the Herald’s rest, he was completely unsurprised to find her systematically destroying a sparring dummy. Judging by the set of her shoulders, she was annoyed. When she heard him approach, she wheeled and nearly dropped her sword in surprise.

“Is there something wrong, Seeker?” he said.

“No, I—just…” she stammered. Cullen raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to elaborate on her enigmatic comment. “It would seem Varric wasn’t lying after all.”  
  
“About?”

Cassandra huffed out a sigh and sheathed her sword. “When he came by a moment ago, he glibly bragged he’d witnessed Her Worship returning to her accommodations slightly before dawn. I told him not to tell such scandalous lies and sent him on his way. It would … appear he wasn’t telling a falsehood for once.” 

Cullen remained stone faced and it took nearly every ounce of self-control not to swear a blue streak and stalk off after the dwarf. It was far too late for that now anyway. Varric very likely had told a half a dozen people already. “And what makes you think he was right?”

“You were smiling when you approached,” she said. Then, smirking, she gestured to a spot on her neck. “There is of course also the very telling love bite beneath your left ear.”

Cullen felt his cheeks burning hotly and clapped a hand over his eyes. “Maker’s breath.”

“Far be it from me to judge…” Cassandra said, “and, although I have not said anything about your blossoming romance, I… I am glad for you, my friend. It is clear you make each other exceedingly happy.”

Cullen cleared his throat and reached back to massage his neck. _Well, this is awkward,_ he thought. Cassandra was looking at him as though she expected some sort of answer so, dropping his hand to his side, he attempted to thank her.

“Yes, well, it would seem we are, ah, well suited for one another.”  
  
Cassandra continued to smirk but said nothing in response, her hand coming to rest on the pommel of her sword. With her free hand, she gestured to the castle proper. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Yes, of course,” he sighed.

They proceeded up the main stair and through the main hall at a brisk pace in silence. Around them, what few nobles who’d gathered this early were already whispering and gossiping. Cullen felt the urge to growl under his breath but thought better of it. Best not to give them anything else to talk about. A dozen or so more paces and they were descending the stairway to the private dining hall. Cassandra slowed her pace considerably and turned to look at him, her expression unreadable.

“Kayleigh said you wished to discuss our conversation from last night. Did you think of something?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, sighing in disgust. “I am afraid scheming is more Leliana’s purview. I am far more suited to tactical strategies.”

Cullen chuckled wryly but made no comment. He was in the same boat after a fashion. “To be quite honest,” she said, “This entire situation is deeply infuriating. That Prince Vael would attempt to use Her Worship as a means to gain more power is vexing at best.”

“Exasperating is more like it.” They’d come to the bottom of the stairs now and he reached past her to open the door for her. She shouldered through it and hesitated causing him to nearly crash into her. “What is—”

His question died on his lips. Before them at the end of the overlarge feast table the Inquisition leadership used for their daily meals, sat Dorian, Varric and the Iron Bull. It was clear they’d been gossiping – very likely about the Inquisitor’s nighttime activities and choice of bed partners – and all three turned to smile cheekily at them. _Fuck._

He glanced about immediately, scanning for Mnemyn and thankfully saw she’d not come down to breakfast yet and had thus been spared the embarrassment. Flicking his gaze back to the trio of hagglers, Cullen drew in a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Before he could say anything, however, Varric called out to him jovially. 

“Way to go, Curly!”

Cullen heard Cassandra choke back a laugh and watched as she coughed into her hand in an attempt to hide it. He shouldered past her to stab an accusatory finger at the dwarf. Before he could speak, however, Cassandra’s temper got the better of her. “Another word, dwarf, and I’ll ensure we ride through the rain _and_ snow on our next outing with the Inquisitor.”

Any further comment died on Varric’s lips and all the joy drained from his expression, replaced instead with stark sullenness. His companions, on the other hand, thought Cassandra’s threat rather entertaining. The Iron Bull nearly spat out a mouthful of coffee while Dorian clapped Varric on the back with a sympathetic pat, giggling gleefully.

Cullen felt Cassandra grab hold of his left biceps and turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Leave them. As I said before, we have much to discuss.”

Cullen drew in a deep breath and shot the trio a look of warning before stalking off after Cassandra who seated herself at the opposite end of the nearly four-meter-long trestle table. She glowered at Varric imperiously from her seat while she waited for him join her and, as he sank into the seat beside her, she turned her full attention to him.

“What’s happened?”

“After our conversation last evening, I happened to see a messenger arrive. She was carrying these,” she said. Reaching into her tunic, she produced three pieces of correspondence and held them out to him. He looked at them for a moment, unsure if he really wanted to know what their collective contents said. Impatiently, she gestured for him to take them and, with a heavy sigh, he did as she’d asked.

The first was addressed to Ambassador Montilyet and bore the seal of Starkhaven. The second was addressed to him from Ostwick and bore the Trevelyan house seal. The final letter was also addressed to him but bore the royal seal of House Vael.

He glanced up with a questioning look and Cassandra nodded. “I assure you, I retrieved these before anyone else saw them. We have time enough to examine their contents before Leliana becomes involved.”

Feeling his annoyance rising, Cullen broke the seal of the letter from Sebastian and began to read.

 

_Commander Cullen,_

_It has been quite some time since we last spoke. I wish to extend my sincerest congratulations to you on your promotion to Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. I can think of no other man, save myself, who’d do a finer job at leading our beloved late Divine’s army to victory against the heretic mages of Thedas._

_The reason for my writing is to inform you of some deeply troubling news. It would seem the Orlesians have decided, most likely due to your position as counsel, that you and our beloved Herald of Andraste are carrying on a most torrid and inappropriate affair._

_At first, I discounted this as slanderous gossip, as I know you are a most righteous and devout Andrastian. Surely you would never do something so foul to sully Her Worship’s reputation or your own. Unfortunately, the rumors have persisted and I find that I can no longer overlook this. Her Worship’s honor must be defended. Hence why I felt the need to write to you._

_As you may or may not know, I have extended a generous proposal to Her Worship’s father – one that he has most ungraciously declined – asking for Her hand in marriage. Thus I have been forced to send the contract to your Ambassador._

_I have dispatched a representative to Skyhold. With him, he carries a marriage contract and the details of a sizable dower for Her Worship. More importantly, I have instructed him to ascertain the situation in my stead. I wish inform you that, should he discover this salacious rumor to be true, I will have no other recourse but to challenge you to a duel._

_May the Maker watch over you._

_Prince Sebastian Vael,_

_First of his Name, Righteous Arrow of the Maker, Rightful Ruler of Starkhaven_

 

Upon finishing Sebastian’s missive, Cullen pursed his lips in annoyance. His hand flexed slightly, wrinkling the fine parchment in his hand, as he processed the threat and buried insults contained therein. Aware that Cassandra was watching him closely, he dropped the letter unceremoniously on the table between them as one of the serving girls brought them their breakfasts. Schooling his face to take on a masque of politeness, he nodded and thanked the young woman quietly as she placed a plate of eggs and a mug of tea in front of him. Cassandra quirked a slender eyebrow at him, clearly wondering what might have annoyed him so.

When he said nothing and, instead, busied himself pouring milk into his tea, Cassandra made a noise to signal her impatience. “What did he do now?”

Taking a sip of his tea, he slid the mildly crumpled letter in her direction. She eyed the paper as though it were poison for a moment then locked gazes with him. Sitting his mug aside, he gently motioned to the letter with a flourish of his hand. “See for yourself.”

With a heavy sigh, Cassandra picked up the letter, straightening the crumpled parchment primly before beginning to read. Cullen proceeded to eat his breakfast in silence, actually humming to himself as he ate which earned him a few odd looks from the opposite end of the table. 

“Unbelievable!” Cassandra said, slapping the parchment down on the table between them. So hard, in fact, that Cullen’s tea sloshed over the rim of his mug. She ignored it while he hurried to sop up the mess with his napkin while she continued her tirade. “Has the whole of Thedas lost their collective minds? We are in the midst of a crisis and he dares to demand her hand in marriage? And if that was not insulting enough, he challenges _you_ to a duel? This is…nothing short of needless male posturing! Ugh!”

This, of course, caught Varric’s attention and the dwarf made his way over to their end of the table. “Who’s dueling who now? And for who’s hand?” 

“No one—Sebastian Vael,” Cullen and Cassandra said in unison. They looked at one another for a moment, Cullen giving her a look of exasperation to which she shrugged and then the Seeker gestured casually to Varric. “He’d find out eventually.” 

“Yes, I would,” Varric agreed, grinning as he took a seat beside her.  
  
“Our esteemed prince has asked for the Inquisitor’s hand in marriage.”

“And he’s challenging Curly to a duel? Pfft. I fail to see the problem.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Meanwhile, Cullen smirked into his tea mug.  
  
“See? Even Curly agrees. He’ll mop the floor with his-high-and-mightiness.”

By now, both Bull and Dorian had slid down to their end of the table to join in the conversation.

“I agree with Varric. Our esteemed commander will destroy him—whoever he is,” Dorian said airily, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. Then, something clearly piqued his interest, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Although… it would be a delightful match to see. Perhaps I can convince you to duel him shirtless?”

“Ohh, I like where you’re going with this,” Bull agreed, “we could oil him up.”

“No and no.” Cullen retorted curtly, sitting his mug down with an air of finality.

Dorian pouted, scowling at him for a moment. “You’re positively no fun, Commander. No fun at all.”

“That’s what I keep telling him!” Varric agreed jovially, tossing his hands in the air.

“Maker’s breath…”

Just then, Rylen appeared from the kitchen door. He was grinning like a school boy as he sat down between Cullen and Bull. Cullen noted the flush of his friend’s cheeks and shot him a knowing smirk which caused Rylen’s fair cheeks to redden significantly. He’d been in the kitchen, likely flirting with Maggie the baker. “What did I miss?”

“Let’s see,” Dorian began, “Some Free Marcher nobody’s challenged the Commander to a duel for our Inquisitor’s hand.”

“Prince Vael of Starkhaven,” Cassandra corrected him.

“And alert the men,” Bull said, “The Commander’s finally bedded the Herald!”

Cullen groaned and rolled his eyes. Rylen clapped him on the shoulder by way of congratulating him.

“O’ o’course he would. Maker have mercy,” Rylen groaned, also rolling his eyes. “Well, not tha’ y’have much t’worry about, Commander. He’s shyte with a sword.”

“Who’s terrible with a sword?”

“Your Grace,” Cullen said smoothly, rising to his feet with a prim and respectful short bow. “Ambassador Montilyet.”

“Ah,” Varric said, “would you believe no one of consequence?”  
  
Mnemyn leveled a sharp look at him, her hands perched on her hips. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” he said.

“Perhaps we ought to give the boss and the Commander a few moments alone,” Bull said.

“What for?” Varric said. “It’s not like we’re not going to find out later. Might as well stick around. It’ll save them retelling the story later.”

Bull, who’d been halfway out of his seat paused, casting a glance at Dorian. When the Altus merely smirked and shrugged, the Qunari sighed, realizing he was outmaneuvered and sat down once more. Meanwhile, Josephine arched an imperious eyebrow at Cullen, clearly wondering what was going on. “Perhaps I…should take my breakfast in my solar—”

“That will not be necessary.” Cassandra slid over to allow Mnemyn to be seated across from him and then impatiently and motioned for them all to sit down.

The next dozen or so minutes were spent filling them in on the details thus far and was followed by an uncomfortable silence as Josephine opened the letter from Starkhaven.

“It is as you say, Commander,” she said. There was an unmistakable air of finality in her tone as she primly sat the letter aside. “The contract is…not as advantageous as I would have hoped though the dower is quite generous.”

“What are my options?” Mnemyn said. From the set of her jaw, she was both annoyed and hesitant to hear what Josephine might say.

“I take that to mean you do not wish to peruse the contract, Your Worship?”

“That is correct,” Mnemyn said. “I intend to reject it out of hand and as painlessly as possible. Can it be done, Josephine?”

“Much surrounding this situation is highly unprecedented,” Josephine began, “No woman in recent history has negotiated her own marriage.” 

“Then perhaps this will empower women everywhere to follow suit,” Cassandra said.

Although Josephine said nothing, Cullen could see she was rather taken aback by the Seeker’s words. He sighed and sat his nearly empty mug of tea aside while gesturing to the letter from Prince Vael. “He’s dispatched a representative. One who will determine whether or not anything inappropriate is going on.”

Josephine pursed her lips, glancing between the he and Mnemyn for a moment before looking down at the marriage contract thoughtfully. Mnemyn shifted uncomfortably across from him and he glanced over to see her worrying the hem of her tunic sleeve. In the tense silence that dragged on, Cullen made a decision. Clearing his throat, he spoke. 

“What if – what if the Inquisitor was already betrothed to someone? Would that make it easier for her to… reject the Prince’s marriage contract?" 

He watched as both Cassandra and Josephine’s eyebrows inched toward their hairlines. Both women shared a look before the ambassador spoke. “Yes, but the fact of the matter is, Lady Trevelyan is not betrothed. We cannot lie to Prince Vael.”

“It wouldn’t technically be lying, would it?” Varric said.

“No,” said an Orlesian accented voice from behind them. Cullen looked up to see Leliana smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. “She’s betrothed to the Commander. We simply didn’t announce it due to their positions within the Inquisition.”

Cullen felt his cheeks burning brightly with blush and shifted uncomfortably as all eyes fell upon him. Swallowing his fear, he managed to cast a glance at Mnemyn and found she, too, was blushing bright red. She was staring at the table in what only could be described as a mix of surprise and, possibly, delight.

“But we’re not—” she mumbled.

“You are together romantically, are you not?” Leliana said. Her tone had an edge to it, almost as if she were annoyed, and she leaned forward slightly to indicate she expected an answer.

“That’s hardly the same thi—” he began to protest.

“No one need know that,” Leliana said, shrugging.

“When I suggested we say she was already betrothed, Sister Nightingale, I meant to someone else. Anyone who knows my reputation or the Inquisitor’s would ever believe she and I were betrothed.”

Varric snorted, rolling his eyes but said nothing. Dorian, on the other hand heaved out a labored sigh of exasperation and gestured with a wave of his hand. “And who do you propose she is betrothed to, Commander?”

“You.”

Dorian sputtered, clearly taken aback and sat gob smacked, staring at Cullen in wide-eyed suprise. Bull roared with laughter, slapping the table. “Shit, that’s…bwahahaha!”

“The idea does have some merit,” Cassandra said.

“I could make that work,” Josephine mused, tapping her chin as she turned the idea over in her mind. “If the Inquisitor approves, of course.”

Leliana, clearly not on board with this idea, remained silent, her lips pursed to a thin line. Cullen smirked at her as if to say she wasn’t the only one who could be sneaky. In reply, the bard rolled her eyes and tossed up her hands. “I will do whatever the Inquisitor decides.”

All eyes fell upon Mnemyn now and she shrank back in her seat a bit, wilting under their scrutiny. “I, uhm, I suppose it could work. Everyone knows Dorian and I are very close.”

“Then it is settled?” Josephine said. She cast a glance to the Tevinter who was glumly scowling beside her. When he did not reply, Cullen watched as Cassandra’s lip began to curl in annoyance.

“Well?” she demanded.  
  
Cullen held his breath as they waited for the mage’s response and, when it seemed he would balk, he saw Mnemyn give the Tevinter a pleading look. 

“Oh, fine,” Dorian said. There was a sourness to his tone though Cullen could detect a tiny bit of satisfaction. “But only because Petal asked.”

“Well, now that the Commander’s attempt at being a spymaster has been handled,” Leliana said.

Cullen shot her a hard look, his temper flaring. He didn’t like lying and he certainly didn’t like people making decisions for him. And, to make matters worse, she was teasing him. Just as he was about to bite back with an angry retort, he felt Mnemyn’s hand come to rest on his knee under the table. Shifting his gaze to her, he watched her close her eyes and nod briefly indicating she empathized with him. They shared a look briefly and, seeing the worry in her expression, he realized they’d have quite a deal to talk about later in private.

“There is another matter we must discuss,” Leliana said. All the expression drained from her face, her cold, blue-grey eyes surveying them one by one. “And one far more grave, I’m afraid.”

“Kirkwall.”

“Yes.”

“What about Kirkwall?” Varric demanded.

“Perhaps it would be best—” Cassandra began to say.

“Oh no you don’t,” Varric warned her, “that cat’s partially out of the bag. I’m not going anywhere. Especially not when Kirkwall’s the topic of discussion.”

“I think it best we move this discussion to the war room,” Josephine said. 

“I agree,” said Cassandra. 

As everyone, including Varric, filed out of the dining hall and toward the stairs, Cullen caught Mnemyn gingerly by the elbow to stop her. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised in question.

  
“Are you all right?” he said.

“Yes, I’m…fine,” she said. She frowned and sighed under his unrelenting gaze. “I don’t like lying either. But more importantly, I don’t like pushing you into something you don’t—”

“I never said anything of the sort,” he admitted.

“You—”

“I do want to be married someday,” he said, “preferably to you but…if…well, if that’s not what you—”

“Cullen,” she said. His breath caught in his throat when she spoke, his stomach knotting up in the fear she’d say anything but yes. He watched as she reached up to place a gentle finger over his lips, a gentle smile tugging at her own. “I think we can both agree we’re not ready to discuss such a weighty subject.”

Exhaling in relief, he nodded and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Maker, yes.”

Her smile widened and she leaned up on her tip toes to place a tender, loving kiss on his lips. He felt his heart swell with joy at this simple gesture and stared after her breathlessly as she turned and darted to the stairs.

“Come on then,” she called over her shoulder. “We mustn’t tarry too long, who knows what story Varric’ll spin if we do.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, none.”

Mnemyn’s spritely laughter echoed down the stairwell as he made the foot of the stairs and he watched as she playfully jaunted up the few remaining steps. As she crested the final stair, she paused just long enough to turn and blow him a kiss before hurrying to join the others.

The war room discussion dragged on for several hours with the advisors, Cassandra and Mnemyn at odds with one another over what to do about Kirkwall. In fact, they were in there so long that the servants brought them lunch. Varric, of course, wasn’t helping matters either. He’d played on Mnemyn’s compassion from the get-go and rallied her to his side.

Leliana had remained oddly quiet while Cassandra, true to form, had been loudly arguing in favor of breaking the siege at Kirkwall. Josephine, of course, had opted for peaceful negotiations and Cullen had a difficult time not agreeing with her on this one. If the Inquisition became involved in a protracted civil war in the Free Marches, it’d draw precious resources away from the real threat: Corypheus and the Breach. He tried arguing as much but Mnemyn refused to listen to reason.

“I guarantee you, Commander, the moment he finds out I’ve rejected his marriage proposal, he’ll turn and lay siege to Ostwick.”

“And I am sure your father and the other Banns are preparing for that,” he said, “We can send word and warn them—”

“Warn them all you like,” Cassandra said, “it will not change the fact that this upstart is attacking a free city in the name of the Chantry and our late Divine’s name. We must put an end to this and quickly.”

“On that we agree,” said Leliana. Their spymaster pursed her lips and leaned down to brace her hands on the war table so she could study the map more closely. “However, I am not sure we have the luxury of time nor the resources to do so at this juncture.”

“We cannot allow him to do this, Leliana,” Cassandra said. She leaned forward and stabbed an accusatory finger at Kirkwall’s location and then continued to hotly argue her point. “It sets a dangerous precedent. The world is already teetering on the brink of open warfare on account of the chaos the Breach has caused, ignoring this may nudge it over the edge.”

“It would seem we are at an impasse,” Josephine interjected, sighing tiredly. “Perhaps it would be best to reconvene after a two-hour recess. Doing so should allow us time to collect our thoughts, more intelligence and cool our passions.”

With great reluctance, the group agreed and began to disperse with Varric grumbling tiredly that his human companions were over complicating things as usual. Cullen could almost hear Cassandra’s eyes rolling at the comment and had to mask a chuckle by coughing into his hand. To his surprise, when they reached the main hall Mnemyn veered off with Leliana, following her to the rookery to discuss something. In light of this, he returned immediately to his office; he did have work to do and Rylen had been managing things in his absence.

The jovial Starkhavener greeted him brightly upon his return, inquired if he’d eaten and, upon finding he had, gave him a briefing of everything that had transpired in his absence. He spent the next half hour signing requisitions, reading reports and sending Kayleigh and Jim off to deliver or collect more paperwork from various places in the castle. All the while, the letter from Bann Trevelyan, which sat in his pocket, niggled at his consciousness, taunting him to open it and read what it said. Rylen, who knew him so well, finally spoke up. 

“Clearly there’s somethin’ that’s botherin’ ya, Commander,” he said. “An’ if I had t’guess, I’d say it was that letter from Her Worship’s father. We’ve a lull right now, why not jus’ read it an’ put yerself out of yer misery?” 

Cullen leveled a bland look at his second for a few beats while he considered what he’d said. And, finally, with a heavy sigh of resignation, reached into his tunic and retrieved the blasted paper. He sat it on the desk in front of him, his lips pursed as he stared it down. What could Bann Trevelyan be doing sending him, of all people, a letter anyway? He heard Rylen sigh in what could only be exasperation and, wishing to head off any chiding, he broke the seal and began to read.

 

 _Commander Cullen,_

_You are, no doubt, wondering why I’ve written to you. First, I wish to extend my great support and thanks for your service to the Inquisition. To know a man of such a devout and storied service record to our Chantry is leading the army of the faithful is quite comforting indeed._

_But onto the matter at hand. The real purpose of my letter is regarding this unfortunate business with Prince Vael of Starkhaven._

_My daughter has told me a great many good things about you, Commander, and it is abundantly clear to her mother and I that she cares very deeply for you._

_I apologize for intruding in this matter – I generally try to let my children decide their own affairs of the heart – but, in light of Prince Vael’s proposal, I felt it necessary to extend a letter of gratitude to you. With that said, should you decide that you wish to marry Mnemyn, I want you to know you have our blessing._

_I should also warn you, Mnemyn’s grandmother may… pay you a visit. Esperanza is a—lively sort and has declared ‘she’ll be the judge of the lad’s worth’. She’s quite protective of her granddaughter and always has been. And when she challenges you to a duel you’d be wise not to decline. Rivani raider marriage custom is quite…colorful and states that any member of the intended’s family may challenge the suitor to a duel. If said suitor refuses, the marriage proposal can be immediately nullified._

_Oh, and one last thing. In light of Prince Vael’s proposal, you should know that Mnemyn’s brothers have thrown their support whole heartedly behind you. I had to threaten both her eldest and middle brothers with sanction to prevent them from challenging Sebastian on your behalf. And my youngest, Mnemyn’s twin Aderyn, has requested he be permitted to travel to your headquarters so that he may pledge himself to the Inquisition’s cause._

_As we are a very devout family, I have permitted him this pilgrimage and he is currently travelling to Skyhold carrying several gifts as a token of our support for your cause and a few items personal gifts for both you and my daughter. Aderyn is a well-trained warrior and is seeking a place in his sister’s army. Please do not feel you must give him any preferential treatment due to his lineage or station. As Aderyn will no doubt tell you, he wants to serve on his own merit and prowess as a warrior and I fully stand by my son’s decision._

_I know this may seem premature but, welcome to the family._

_May Andraste and the Maker watch over you,_

_Lord Bran Trevelyan_

 

Aware that Rylen was watching him expectantly, he handed over the missive. “It’s certainly not what I expected…”

Rylen hummed as he read and, when he’d finished, he handed the letter over with a grin. “T’was more or less what I expected, t’be quite honest.”

“I’m so glad it met with your exacting expectations,” Cullen retorted tartly.

Rylen snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’d count yerself lucky, I would. That the Trevelyans would welcome you so is a sign, I say.” 

Cullen drew in a deep breath and refolded the letter, tucking it into his top right desk drawer for safe keeping. “Time will tell, I suppose. Come, we have troops to drill.”

“Aye, Commander.”

As Cullen followed Rylen down the nearest staircase, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was a sign from the Maker. He certainly couldn’t argue that having her family’s blessing to marry didn’t make him feel a modicum of relief. Perhaps this was a good omen of things to come.


	32. The voice of reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian decides Cullen's plan is not only ill conceived but potentially dangerous and decides to set the Commander straight over a game of chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken nearly two full weeks to post. Things have been hectic and, since I've veered so far off my original draft, a lot of rewrites were in order. Thanks everyone for the wonderful comments and encouragement as well as your patience. I ran into a bit of writer's block which I broke through today. Also of note, I've blended at least three in-game scenes or conversations into this one and I hope you enjoy my take on them!

_Haring 13, Dragon 9:31_

Cullen paced behind his desk as he went over the events of the second war room meeting, his jaw clenched in frustration. Mnemyn had refused to budge on the matter of Kirkwall. In fact, she’d rather firmly insisted that once she and her team finished Inquisition business in Crestwood, should Prince Vael refuse to see reason, they would cross the Waking Sea to confront him. This, of course, set them at loggerheads and, although Cullen had managed to rein in his anger and speak civilly and cooly, their parting was not as pleasant as he’d hoped. In fact, he hadn’t seen her since.

Part of him fretted this might be the end of their fledgling romance. Instead of giving into that fear and throwing in the towel as he had before, Cullen told himself she was likely preparing for her departure in the morning. She was likely very busy gathering her gear from the smithy, checking supplies, and finalizing her route. Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to the matter of the troublesome marriage proposal which, when it’d also been brought up in the meeting, really seemed to make her irritable. And, try as he might, Cullen couldn’t get her to elaborate on why.

“Ye’re gonna wear a groove into th’ floor at this rate,” Rylen said dryly. Cullen grumbled irritably, ignored him and continued to pace.

Just as he was devising a plan to approach her - he was considering inviting her to a quiet dinner in his office - the northern door to his tower swung open. In it, wreathed in the bright light of mid-afternoon, stood Dorian. Cullen stopped mid-step and Rylen looked up from the pile of reports he was sifting through, both watching the Tevinter expectantly.

“Come now, Commander, don’t look so dour! It causes wrinkles!”

Cullen sighed and shook his head. Could Dorian ever be serious? He leveled a sharp glare at the Tevinter but said nothing. Nonplussed, the mage continued grinning broadly.

“Tell me true, Knight-Captain Rylen, he’s been absolutely useless all day, hasn’t he? First due to his morning _meeting_ with the Inquisitor, although I’d also wager the afternoon war room meeting is more the cause. Have a spat with Petal, did we?”

“I’d say that’s a very astute assessment, Serrah Pavus,” Rylen said.

In response, Cullen shot Rylen a virulent glare, huffing indignantly. Dorian smirked and beckoned him to follow. “Come, I’ve found an exquisite chess set in the garden. Let me distract you from your distractions!”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Dorian,” Cullen said.

“And, as we’ve just established, you’ve been absolute rubbish all day,” Dorian said. “We both know you’ll get very little done in the remaining hours you’re on duty.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Dorian did make a good point. Casting a glance at Rylen while tossing one hand up in defeat, he sighed. “Would you mind--”

“Of course not, Commander,” Rylen said. “Everything shall be fine in your absence.”

“Excellent!” Dorian simpered, rubbing his hands together. “I look forward to beating you handily, Commander.”

“We shall see about that, Messere.”

They made their way to the inner courtyard and garden of the palace, sharing a brief but pleasant conversation about the state of Skyhold’s reconstruction effort along the way. When they arrived at the chess board and seated themselves, the mage smiled and graciously offered to let him go first.

“As this will be the first time I beat you, I’ll give you the pleasure of going first.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Cullen said. He’d been barely able to keep the annoyance out of his tone but, remembering Dorian had insisted they play chess as a distraction and, therefore, was helping him, managed a small smile and turned to study the board instead.

“I know, I’m terribly considerate.”

Cullen groaned softly and settled back into his seat. Why again had he agreed to this? Aware that Dorian was watching him amusedly, he spared him a glance, arching an eyebrow in question. The man opposite grinned toothily, his fingers steepled beneath his chin; Dorian had been more than watching him. He’d been admiring him.

“So tell me, Commander, knowing what you know about my personal preferences in the romantic company I keep,” Dorian said, “why choose me as Her Worship’s beau?”

“It made sense from a practical perspective.”

“Do enlighten me, Commander.”

Cullen drew in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh of resignation, fixing Dorian with a mildly annoyed look before continuing. “I wagered few know of your preference for male paramours. Furthermore, you’re both mages, charismatic, and of noble birth. There’s also the matter of how incredibly close you are which, thanks to the constant parade of Orlesian nobility through Skyhold, is quite well known throughout Thedas.”

“Does that bother you, Commander?”

“I--no,” Cullen said. “...should it?”

“I take that to mean you don’t approve of the whole world knowing?” Dorian said.

“It irritates me that the goings on here seem more important than our cause, Dorian.”

“Nobility is fickle, Serrah,” Dorian gave him a lopsided grin as he took his turn. “At any rate, I’d be more concerned about my intentions regarding you, Commander.”

As he was about to balk, Dorian held up his hand with a smile. “Yes, I realize that is impossible. Be that as it may, teasing you about it is _quite_ enjoyable and I shan't discontinue doing so. You make the most adorable faces!”

Cullen pursed his lips and returned to contemplating his move. After a moment, he moved his fourth pawn out. A bold move, surely, but one he’d used before with great success. He was very good at chess afterall. Satisfied, he sat back to see how Dorian would react and watched as the mage grinned and immediately countered by moving his second pawn out. _Ah, he's using the Knights-Templar defense! Excellent!_ , Cullen thought.

“You do realize should we go through with this plan of yours, there will likely be some severe consequences, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“My family knows I prefer the company of men, Commander, and once they hear of this they may blow our cover, so to speak,” Dorian said. “And, even if they don’t, many across Thedas will be taken aback that the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste would dare consider marrying a filthy Tevinter.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Cullen said.

“Which is why I’m telling you now,” Dorian said airily. Cullen snorted and rolled his eyes. Sometimes Dorian’s bravado and bluster was just too much. But, before he could think of a witty comeback, the mage continued. “And, should we be particularly unlucky, your lovely Chantry might seize the opportunity to renew its ever so delightful smear campaign against our dear Mnemyn. I dare say, with this feather in their cap, they could potentially provoke Orlais, Rivane, Nevarra and Ferelden into all out war against the Inquisition.”

Cullen felt bile rising in his throat but said nothing. Instead, he continued to stare at the board. Not only had he put Dorian in a very uncomfortable situation but following through with his suggested plan could be disastrous. His stomach roiled at the thought of the entire world turning against the Inquisition and he was suddenly struck with a particularly grim vision of Mnemyn being burnt at the stake like Andraste.

“No one’s finalized or announced anything, you know,” Dorian said. “We could just chose someone else. Someone more believable and who won’t drag all of Thedas into civil war.”

“And who would you suggest? Blackwall? Solas? We don’t have--”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Must I spell it out?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes slightly and dug in. No, he wasn’t going to bite. Not this time.

“Why you, you great armored lummox.”

“We’ve been over this before,” Cullen said.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Dorian sighed dramatically while waving him off. “You’re not worthy of Her Worship. So you’ve said dozens of times.”

Cullen shot him a hard look for a moment before sitting down his piece. He’d hemmed Dorian’s king and queen in with little chance of escape.

“You know I’m right.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Commander,” Dorian said. Smirking, the mage maneuvered one of his grand clerics to block Cullen’s advance when he thought Cullen wasn’t looking. “You’ve a great deal of status as the leader of the leader of the Divine’s holy army. Now I know you’re about to say I’m being ridiculous but hear me out:

“The Inquisition is comprised of the highest ranking faithful. Both Left and Right Hands, a Revered Mother as well as dozens of scholars, clerics, and former templars such as yourself. Now, would you say the Inquisition’s army could match, say, Ferelden’s in size?”

“I suppose but I don’t see what--”

“Just give me a moment, Commander, I promise you’ll see,” Dorian said. “When word spreads of the Inquisitor’s good works in Crestwood and the liberation of Kirkwall what do you think will occur?”

“We’ll have a surge of volunteers as we always do,” Cullen said.

“Yes, exactly!” Dorian leaned forward, smiling smoothly as he illegally moved his queen to place Cullen’s king in check. “And a few more months of that, and your army will match that of Orlais won’t it?”

“Orlais has Chevali--”

“Ah-ah,” Dorian said, “You have templars whom, as I recall, you’ve stated - on multiple occasions I might add - are among the best trained warriors in all the world. Or did I mishear you?”

“No, I have said that.”

“Then it stands to reason you’d be of rank with their General. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, I believe?” Dorian said. The mage leaned forward, his eyebrows raised and the most smug smile plastered across his face as if he’d won something.

“And your point?”

“That _is_ my point, my dear Cullen,” Dorian retorted tartly. “Whether you like it or not, you do have status and, therefore, you can no longer use lack thereof as an excuse not to court my dear cousin.”

“And me asking for her hand isn’t going to cause any less of a kerfuffle, Dorian,” Cullen said.

“They’re going to gossip no matter whom she’s betrothed to, Commander,” Dorian said airily.

“And exactly how will we explain not marrying? People will talk.”

“First of all, despite this little bit of play acting, we both know that won’t happen. Secondly, courtships fail all the time,” Dorian said, “that’s what courtships are for, you know. To test the compatibility of the couple.”

“You’re not backing down, are you?”

“There are few things I believe in in this world, Commander,” Dorian said.

“I fail to see how drinking to excess, gambling, and frequently running at the mouth will assist you here, Messare.”

“Pssh,” Dorian said, “You wound me! As I was saying: being obstinate and true love number high on that list. So, no. I won’t _leave it lie fallow_ as you adorable southerners are want to say.”

“Maker’s breath!”

Dorian laughed heartily now, clearly amused by his frustration. “I take that to mean you’ve come to terms with my brilliant plan?”

“Do I have any choice?”

“No, but it’s very kind of you to ask,” Dorian said. With a flourish of his hand and a sly grin, he moved his final piece into place putting Cullen’s king in an inescapable check. “Now, back to the matter at hand. I believe we can both agree who’s the better chess player not to mention the better dresser.”

“Gloat all you like. I have this one.”

“Are you sassing me, Commander?” Dorian said. The amusement in his voice was clear as he leaned back to recline in his seat once again, his green eyes twinkling with delight. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen heaved out a hefty sigh and began to make his next move. “Why do I even--”

From the corner of his eye, he detected movement; someone was walking their way. He began to turn his head and when he immediately recognized Mnemyn’s sea and cerulean blue robes, he began to rise to greet her properly. “Inquisitor!”

“Leaving so soon are we?” Dorian said. “Does this mean I win?”

Giving the other man an annoyed look, Cullen reseated himself but his attention remained focused on Mnemyn. Thankfully, her expression was rather placid - amused even - as she came to stand beside the ornate chessboard. Crossing her arms in front of her, she surveyed the scene and smirked. “Are you two playing nice?”

“I’m _always_ nice,” said Dorian. Turning his attention back to his opponent, Dorian gave him a lopsided grin. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

“Really?” Cullen said. “Because I just won and I feel fine.”

“Don’t get smug. There’ll be no living with you.”

Dorian rose slowly, winked at Mnemyn and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before strolling off toward the castle proper. Noting that she seemed neither hesitant nor still angry, Cullen decided to try to engage her in conversation.

“I should return to my duties as well...” he said, “unless you’d care for a game?”

“Prepare the board, Commander.”

A wave of relief passed over him as Mnemyn smiled and took her seat. As a few moments of silence ticked by as he began shuffling pieces back into place, he realized now would be a good time for casual conversation to test the waters, so to speak.

“Have you, ah, just come from the chapel?”

“Yes,” she said, “I needed some time to reflect after today’s barrage of meetings.”

Cullen’s heart sank a little at hearing that and dropped his gaze in disappointment to the board, pretending to busy himself with resetting the ornately carved pieces. He heard her huff out a short breath - possibly one of frustration - and then was surprised when her hand came to rest on his own. “Cullen, I’m not cross with you.”

Cullen stilled and looked up to see her watching him with concern. “You’re...not?”

“No,” she said, “I understand why you suggested Dorian play the part of my betrothed.”

“But?”

Mnemyn sighed heavily, taking her hand away and slouched back in her chair looking at once frustrated and apologetic. “I -- just don’t think it’ll work.”

“He said as much himself,” Cullen said. “And I’ve come to agree with him.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” he said. “Dorian made some incredibly insightful arguments with regard to what might occur should we go through with my original plan.”

“I take that to mean you’re going to suggest we abandon that course of action?”

“Not entirely,” he said. When Mnemyn looked as though she were about balk, he held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “How would you feel if I were to take his place?”

“Relieved...mostly,” she said.

Nodding, he occupied himself with finishing his reset of the chessboard, a short but awkward silence spreading between them. When he’d moved the last piece into place, he looked up at Mnemyn. “Mostly?”

“I’d...well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also happy,” Mnemyn said. Her admission was a quiet one, and, when Cullen looked up to examine her expression, he saw her cheeks had taken on a warm, rosy hue.

He smiled and gave her a small nod, dropping his gaze to the board once again. He could feel her eyes upon him, she seemed enraptured by him merely resetting the board. Or was it something else?

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a time, each making their opening to a murmur of approval from the other. As the minutes wound on, Cullen found himself remembering the games of his youth against his sister. Mnemyn, ever perceptive, must’ve seen the nostalgia in his expression and spoke.

“Remembering a happier time?”

“Just thinking of my sister and the stuck-up grin she would get whenever she won--which was _all_ the time,” he said. “My brother and I practised together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won….”

Mnemyn chuckled as she made her next move, pausing to make eye contact with him just before she let go of her piece. “I can only imagine.”

“As I recall,” he said, “you won your match against her.”

Mnemyn smiled and rested her chin in her hand while she watched him mull over his next move. “Far be it from me to say, my dear Commander, but I suspect she may have let the Herald of Andraste win out of politeness.”

“I suppose it’s possible she’s mellowed in her...advancing years,” he said. “Though Mia’s never been one to underplay. She’s quite competitive.”

“A trait which runs in the family, I see,” Mnemyn said with a laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So this business with you portraying my intended is purely to defend my honor?”

Cullen looked up from moving his piece to meet Mnemyn’s unwavering gaze. There was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips but, otherwise, she was watching him very intently.

“Not exactly,” he said.

Mnemyn hummed her approval as she contemplated her next move. “You do realize should we decide to go through with this, people will talk.”

Cullen slouched back in his chair with a heavy sigh of annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I would rather my--our--private affairs remain that way,” he said. Leaning back in his chair to consider “But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more.”

“Morale is important.” Mnemyn smiled and watched as he moved one of his grand cleric’s in to take her templar. “Andraste wept! You’re positively trouncing me, Commander.”

Cullen chuckled wryly but remained silent.

They fell into pleasant conversation for quite some time and, much to Cullen’s surprise, none of it had anything to do with the Inquisition, Corypheus, or the Breach. They spoke mostly of their families - both sharing amusing stories about their siblings - as well as interesting bits of their lives before they’d met.

“...then he says, ‘she’s from Kirkwall!’ as if I should know her. Kirkwall’s a big city. I didn’t go about introducing myself to everyone.”

Mnemyn laughed, shaking her head. “Oh Varric.”

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Cullen took his turn. “Oh Varric indeed.”

“He means well, Cullen,” she said.

In response, he harrumphed and shrugged. “Yes, I’m sure he does.”

After a few beats, Cullen realized something. “You know, this may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition -- or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

“We should spend more time together,” she said. From the blush spreading across her cheeks, he realized she meant it.

“I would...like that,” he said. Cullen felt as though his heart was going to burst from his chest, it was beating so hard. So she wasn’t just interested in a sexual relationship? And, judging by how the blush was creeping up her ears, she was likely feeling the same thing as he was right now.

“You said that,” he said. “We should...finish our game.”

Still embarrassed, Mnemyn only nodded in return. Taking pity on her - how many times had their situations been reversed - he rescued her. “Right. My turn?”

Nearly twenty minutes later, Cullen maneuvered his queen to place Mnemyn’s king in check. With one of his templars already blocking any escape, the game was over. With a smile, he leaned back in his chair. “And this one’s mine.”

“It seems luck favored you today,” Mnemyn said with a grin.

“So it has,” he said. Glancing at the fading light of the courtyard, he pursed his lips. The afternoon gone and evening upon them, Cullen knew he was very likely behind in his work. “I should...return to my duties.”

Mnemyn nodded and, glancing about, moved to stand. “Would you...mind if I walk with you? I thought we could talk. Alone.”

“Alone?” Realizing he’d stammered, Cullen cleared his throat and continued in what he hoped would be a more confident tone. “I mean, of course.”

They made their way to the battlements in silence and as they ascended the stairs, Cullen could feel his stomach fluttering in anticipation. What could she possibly want to speak about? As they stepped onto the southern wall-walk, he could see Mnemyn wringing her hands. _Maker please don’t let her say she wants to break this off…_

They continued to walk north along the battlements toward his tower in excruciating silence. Finally unable to bear it a moment longer, Cullen blurted out the first thing that came to mind while massaging his neck out of nervousness. “It’s...a nice day.”

This seemed to catch her completely off guard and her step faltered. As she stopped, she turned to look at him, a confused look on her face. “What?”

“It’s...there was something you wished to discuss.”

She nodded and swallowed hard. “Cullen...in light of...well this morning and...well, everything, I--care for you and--”

Just as quickly as she’d begun, Mnemyn stopped with a heavy sigh. She was flustered. “What’s wrong?”

“You left the templars and--I know you’ve told me before but… do you trust mages?” She paused for just a moment, her eyes searching his expression for something while her own were filled with fear. “Could you think of me as anything more?”

His heart was thundering in his chest now and he swallowed hard. He had to pause for the briefest of moments to absorb and then confirm—twice—that she’d in fact just admitted she fancied him.  
  
Finally he regained his wits and replied, “I could. I mean… I do think of you.”  
  
He paused, wryly thinking he didn’t dare admit out loud, and certainly not in which fashion, exactly how often his thoughts focused on her. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, he looked away sheepishly and admitted, “And what I might say in this situation…”  
  
_Maker, I am making quite a mess of this._ He rubbed his forehead, turning toward the battlements in an effort to regain some measure of control over his thoughts which were now running rampantly through his head, cheering wildly.  
  
“What’s… stopping you?” she asked tentatively, leaning around his arm in an attempt to catch his gaze. He was positively frozen, gripped by nerves and uncertainty. Seconds ticked by and he found he could not look at her for fear she’d see the uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly, she stepped in front of him, searching his expression for some clue as to what he was thinking.  
  
Finally, he decided the truth was always the best course of action. So he laid his thoughts and heart bare before her, “You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you…I didn’t think it was possible.”  
  
Off her encouraging expression, he tentatively took a step closer to her. They were a mere foot apart now and he could feel the tension between them rising palatably. _Is this really happening?_ He wondered. _Maker, if I’m dreaming please allow me to continue dreaming._  
  
“And yet I’m still here,” she retorted softly, smiling. How alluring she looked standing there, he thought, and soon found himself stepping even closer.  
  
He could feel the warmth of her body now and caught the light, floral scent of her hair which stoked his desires to ever greater heights. In a low tone he admitted, “So you are…it seems too much to ask.”  
  
They were mere inches apart now. He could feel her breath on his lips as he spoke. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and a sweat breaking on his brow. Suddenly, he found his nervousness simply evaporate. Right now, she was the only thing that mattered. She was the only person in the world beside himself, for everything around them seemed to cease to exist in this one, breathless, perfect moment.  
  
“But I want to—” he admitted in a murmur, leaning in to kiss her.  
  
Just as their eyes fluttered closed and they began to close the distance between one another, their lips barely an inch apart, Cullen heard what sounded like a door open and shut. A second later he heard the voice of aides call out to him. _Jim. Maker take him!_

Cullen froze and then heaved a heavy sigh of frustration and, as he did so, he saw Mnemyn’s eyes fly open. A deep scarlet blush had spread across her face, all the way to the tips of her dainty ears, and she was pulling away from him to lean against the parapet behind her.  
  
Cullen drew in a deep breath, hoping somehow Jim would see what was clearly going on and have the decorum to take his leave. When the young man merely stood there, clearly waiting for Cullen to acknowledge him and take the report, he felt his anger surge. He wheeled on the interloper, fixing him with a positively menacing glare and through clenched teeth, demanded to know what he wanted.

“ **_What_ ** ?”  
  
“Sister Leliana’s report,” Jim said. Cullen watched as the younger man cringed, clearly confused at his commander’s anger. “You wanted it delivered ‘without delay’.”  
  
With his anger threatening to boil over -- he felt himself seething, positively livid -- and was so stupefied by Jim’s slow-wittedness that no words sprang to mind. Instead, he raised his eyebrows as if to indicate how the young man had interrupted a delicate moment. Cullen watched as Jim’s face fell as his gaze focused first on the Inquisitor, who was now fidgeting rather fretfully behind Cullen while shielding her eyes. Even from where he stood, unable to completely see her in his peripheral vision, he knew her to be completely mortified. Jim swallowed hard before once again returning to focus on his furious commander.  
  
_Well, at least he has the clarity of mind to look embarrassed_ , he thought ruefully. But he was very nearly now at the edge of his patience and quickly closed the distance between himself and the younger man. Towering over him, Cullen gave him an extremely pointed look which he hoped Jim would read as ‘ _flee. Now_ ’.  
  
Immediately, Jim began to backpedal and, when he’d made it halfway to the door, found his voice while wilting under his withering glare. “Or… to your office… right…”  
  
He watched as Jim wheeled and fled through the door, running as though the Black Divine was chasing him. Behind him, he heard Mnemyn, still clearly quite embarrassed, begin to speak. “Cullen, if you need to—”  
  
In that moment, Cullen decided he was not going to let this moment be spoiled. There would be no more missed chances, she would know how much he wished to be with her today and forever.

In an instant he turned back toward her, his expression softening as soon as he met her confused and embarrassed gaze. Gently, he placed his hands on either side of her face and leaned in to kiss her passionately. He felt her stiffen for a moment in surprise, but immediately she melted into his kiss and began kissing back in kind.

When his lungs were burning from lack of air, he pulled back just far enough to stare into her eyes. She was smiling breathlessly at him and he felt his heart swell with joy.  
  
“I’m sorry… that was, uhm, really nice…” he admitted awkwardly.  
  
“I believe that was a kiss,” she said. There was a lilting, joyous undertone to her voice as she spoke. She was teasing. She dipped her head slightly, looking at him alluringly through her lashes, and, in a coy tone, continued. “But I can’t be sure. It’s all a blur.”  
  
“Yes, well….” Cullen chuckled at her clever ploy to wheedle a second kiss out of him--not that he’d ever deny her--and leaned in slowly to oblige her. His heart skipped several beats as their eyes fluttered shut and lips met once again.    
  
This time, he decided to take his time and kiss her very thoroughly. He was at once gentle yet commanding and, when they parted moments later, breathless and panting for air, he saw that she was smiling shyly at him in the way he found incredibly beguiling. Dimly, he realized if he didn’t walk away now, they’d end up in his bed again and, although he knew they’d greatly enjoy themselves, practicality won out. They both had a great many things to attend to; she was leaving for Crestwood in the morning.  
  
Reluctantly, he willed himself to take a tentative step back, his gaze cast downward. “I suppose I should—I mean we should—return to our duties.”  
  
In that moment, he felt her hand on his chin and watched as Mnemyn directed his gaze back to her. There was a mixture of concern and worry in her expression as she looked up at him. Finally, she let her hand fall away and she began to worry the hem of her tunic. “You… don’t regret this do you?”  
  
“No,” he breathed, “never. I love you. Now and forever.”  
  
His heart leapt as her expression immediately turned sunny. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him for several minutes in silence before leaning up to kiss him sweetly. As she retreated to look into his eyes, he could see she was exceedingly happy. So happy, in fact, she seemed to almost glow with it. “I love you, too.”

Cullen smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice barely a murmur. “Good night, Mnemyn.”

“Good night,” she said. As she drifted toward the tower to his left, which had an adjoining door which conveniently led to the tavern, she turned back to look at him. “Will I see you tomorrow before I leave?”

“Of course.”

Cullen stood watching her descend the stairs -- with a distinct bounce in her step and humming to herself -- until she was out of sight. With a contented sigh, he turned and made his way back to his own tower at a leisurely pace. A feeling of serenity - something Cullen had not felt in a very long time - descended upon him and, smiling, he realized his future was definitely looking brighter.

 


	33. Pleasant Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mnemyn is about to leave for Crestwood and Cullen decides he must see her before she goes. Wanting to be romantic, he devises a plan to surprise her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, hi there. Sorry for the eh, extended break. I didn't plan to take a three months off but life threw me a huge curveball and it's--well, it's been a rough three months. 
> 
> I've worked through it, I'm fine and am I'm writing again and that's really all that matters to me. Also, school's back in session and things have, more or less, returned to normal. Well, what passes for normal here. Anyway, here's a short chapter...where nothing happens. *facepalm* It's a cute chapter though, I promise! Anyway. Chapter 33 ended up to be around, oh, almost 8k words so I had to break it in half. Never fear, 34's edits are about done and I should have it posted soon-ish. And, believe me when I say this, I've no plans on taking another long hiatus. Soon-ish as in probably sometime before the end of the weekend.
> 
> Thanks for the patience everyone and, again, sorry I had to take such an extended break. Oh and hey, new art on the way. I'll link it when i've finished shading/coloring it. :D :D :D

_Haring 14, Dragon 9:41_

Cullen awoke early the following morning well before dawn. Because he hadn’t slept well, he decided it was best to just start his day. As he began to dress, he briefly reflected on the strangeness on his dreams. Over the last several evenings, he noticed they had once again become vague and shadowy like they had been when Mnemyn had faced her ordeal at Therinfal.

Unlike his last few nocturnal ordeals, however, he could only recall a sense of foreboding in the darkness punctuated by bright, glowing red shards or slashes. Idly, he wondered if it had to do with red lyrium; the subject had been a hot topic as of late after all. And, with the realization that these monsters were once men and women whom he’d likely known and worked with, he had begun to worry how many templars had escaped Envy’s disgusting experiment. He also, of course, wondered whether or not the Order would survive much longer. Thedas needed her templars now more than ever.

Ignoring the growing pounding behind his left eye, he decided to turn his attention to the day ahead of him; there was no point on dwelling on nightmares nor his headache now. There simply wasn’t time enough for unpleasantness; today was Mnemyn’s last morning at Skyhold for the foreseeable future. He’d promised to visit her before she left and, determined to send her off with a smile, Cullen concentrated on her and pushed through the pain.  
  
He finished putting on his tunic and sword belt and was in the process of reaching for his breastplate when he was struck with a sudden idea. Perhaps surprising his love with something romantic was in order? Flowers were out of the question. With winter now so forcefully bearing down on them, reaching the mountain flowers he’d heard rumored to grow on the nearby slopes would be impossible.

At a loss, Cullen sighed in frustration and growled under his breath. How exactly did Varric and Dorian make being creative and spontaneous look so easy? Just as he was about to consider waking one of them to ask their advice, his stomach helpfully rumbled. Breakfast in bed would be not only romantic but cozy. They could share this last morning in the sanctity of her quarters without fretting over what prying eyes and ears might see or hear.

He was about to begin donning his armor when he remembered Mnemyn had commented that she wished he’d wear his armor less. Thus, Cullen immediately decided to forgo wearing it and instead pulled on his winter cloak. That settled, he set off for the kitchens with a spring in his step.

A brusque wind greeted him and the stinging cold not only made his eyes water but his head began pounding even harder. It was a brisk walk across bridge connecting his tower to the keep and, after a brief fight with the wicked Frostback winter wind, he was finally able to pry the rotunda’s door open and step inside. He shivered violently as he shut the door quietly behind him and, just as he was about to continue on his way as the warmth of the castle seemed to enfold him. But the contrast between the frigid and warm air of the castle unfortunately began to make his headache worse.

Cullen hissed under his breath and reached to steady himself against the archway which led to the rotunda as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He took several calming breaths and, when he’d finally adjusted to the temperature difference, proceeded to slowly and quietly make his way to the grand hall. He was relieved to find it positively abandoned at this hour and quietly made straight away for the stairs. Seconds later, he descended into the bowels of the castle.

Upon entering the blazing warmth of Skyhold’s kitchen, which was buzzing like a hive of bees at this hour, Cullen was greeted merrily by the staff. Because he often worked late into the evening and frequently missed supper - though less so since Mnemyn scolded him for doing so months ago - Cullen was no stranger to the kitchens. In fact, not only was he on a first name basis with the staff, but the cook, Maeve, had taken quite a shine to him and had begun ensuring his favorite dishes were prepared with regularity.

Maeve happened to hail from Denerim which, of course, made getting on with her that much easier. Although he’d never say it out loud, having someone to talk about Ferelden traditions and the like was also nice. Despite his best efforts over the years, Cullen had been homesick from time to time; although he was loath to admit it.

Skyhold’s head cook could be stubborn and fierce, a trait well known in the Ferelden people – himself included – and she ran the kitchens with a firm hand. Some would say it was more like a cast iron skillet, but, although many of the castle staff were frightened of her, Cullen knew she had a heart of gold.

“Up at the arse crack of the morning again, I see, Cully,” Maeve said. “Not feelin’ well?”

Cullen gave the cook an arched look and the older woman chuckled, nodding to a pot of tea already laid out on one of the side tables. “Brewed you some medicinal tea jus’ in case, I did. Felt like it was gonna be one o’ those mornin’s.”

“Thank you, Maeve,” he said.

Maeve nodded and returned to kneading a positively massive lump of dough. She smiled as she watched him settle down on a stool to prepare his tea. “Think nothin’ of it, Commander. Considerin’ you’ve always made sure we were well taken care o’ it’s th’ least I could do t’make sure you’re well fed.”

“Speaking of,” he said, “Cole mentioned there’s been trouble in the kitchens as of late.”  
  
“Oi, _that’s_ an understatement, that is!” Maeve said. With a heavy sigh, she dropped the dough she’d been kneading onto the floured board in front of her, dusted off her hands and braced them on her hips. Shaking her head, she continued. “Jus’ when we’d gotten Cole t’stop his antics, that mischievous elf girl starts up! She’s been prankin’ about again, raidin’ th’ larder an’ the like. _Maker wept!_ If we lose one more ham, I swear I’m gonna skin her alive!” 

Cullen raised an eyebrow at that particular accusation and, after casting a glance to her head sous chef, Gillian, Gilly for short – who he noticed was nodding along in complete agreement – he nodded to indicate she should continue. With a huff, she returned to kneading the dough in front of her angrily, seemingly taking out her frustrations with Sera on the unassuming soon-to-be bread.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if she’d stop swapping the sugar for the salt. Maker have mercy. Can y’mebbe talk the Inquisitor inta takin’ her along this time? She’s drivin’ me an’ the staff mad, she is.”

Cullen sighed and cast an annoyed glare in the direction of the Herald’s Rest where Sera kept a room. She’d been a particularly big pain in the arse as of late and not just to his own staff it would seem, but the entire castle. He’d tried talking to her at one point but she refused to listen and had, in fact, stuck her fingers in her ears and stuck out her tongue while he lectured her on the finer points of courtesy and decorum. When he’d finished, she burst into a fit of mad giggles before quickly haring off for somewhere else before he could admonish her further. “I’ll speak to Her Worship this morning.”

“Excellent,” Maeve said. “Gilly’s preparin’ Her Grace’s tray. P’haps I should add your breakfast to it?”

“Yes, that’d be lovely.” Cullen smiled into his tea and thanked her as he sat the empty mug aside. “Thank you, Maeve.”  
  
“Since she’s leavin’ today, we made it extra special we did,” Gilly said as she hurried up.

“I’m sure she’ll be most appreciative,” Cullen said.

The young woman bobbed a gentle curtsy so as not to spill anything and smiled as she handed the tray over to him. Cullen nodded and said his thanks before bidding the kitchen staff goodbye.

“A-are you sure you wouldn’t rather have one of the maids—”

Cullen shook his head and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you Gillian but I’m quite sure. No need to have anyone else endure the wind and cold.”

The younger woman blushed, dropping her gaze to the floor and smiled shyly before rushing to the kitchen door to hold it open for him. This was peculiar indeed. He nodded his thanks and said his goodbyes over his shoulder before sweeping through the door and hurrying toward the stairs.

He’d only just reached the foot of the stairwell when he heard Gilly’s voice echoing up behind him. From how strained her voice sounded, he assumed she was whispering to someone else, probably in the hopes Maeve wouldn't hear her. Unfortunately, the stairwell proved to be the perfect amplification to carry her conversation to him. “How I envy Her Worship, such a gentleman he is. An’ so romantic!”

“Helps that he’s _very_ easy on th’ eyes! Mm-mmm. I wonder if he has a brother?” said one of the maids.

“Oh, holy Andraste! Can you imagine that? _Two_ of ‘em?”

A chorus of wistful, infatuated sighs followed by a tittering fit of giggles began echoing up the stairs only to be interrupted by Maeve’s booming voice. “ _Andraste’s flamin’ knicker weasles!_ Talkin’ about our Commander in such a way, y’should be ashamed o’ yerselves! Now, back to work th’ lot of you!”

Cullen blinked in surprise and slowly ascended the stairs. He’d never heard someone – let alone three young ladies – speak of him in such a way. The story, he realized, might make for good material for his next letter home. And, should he be particularly lucky it just might distract Mia from asking anymore probing questions about the nature of he and Mnemyn’s relationship. Even if it didn’t, he knew Branson would find it amusing and imagining his brother’s reaction made him smile.  
  
By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he was practically humming to himself. He couldn’t wait to see Mnemyn’s expression when he arrived. It took some creative maneuvering and help from one of Leliana’s aides to navigate through the large oaken door which led to the bridge which tied the keep to the gatehouse tower. Several bone chilling minutes later, Cullen arrived at Mnemyn’s door half frozen but no less exuberant than before.

To his surprise, he could hear her rushing to and fro inside. He pursed his lips in thought for a moment; it was still far too early for her to be awake. Although she often rose early for prayer on deployment days, he’d never known her to be up at this hour. Curiosity getting the better of him, he gingerly balanced the tray on his hip and knocked.

All sounds from the chamber within immediately ceased and, after a few tense beats, the occupant called out to him. “Who’s there?”

“Me.”

Silence. He’d surprised her. Two beats later, the sounds of slippered feet hurrying in his direction filled his ears and, a second after that, the door creaked open to reveal Mnemyn’s smiling yet mildly bewildered face in the gap. “Cullen...what are you doing up so early?”

“I was about to ask the same of you,” he said.

“I...was thinking of surprising you.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on him and Cullen chuckled. Giving her a wink, he proffered the tray. “I thought we might...share breakfast?”

“Oh, how thoughtful!”

Without another word, she yanked the door open wide and ushered him inside. As she shut the door behind him, Cullen perused her temporary living quarters. The room, although about as large as his office, was about as spartanly furnished as his own loft. Despite this fact, he could certainly see Josephine and her staff’s influence here. The furnishings, what few there were, appropriate to her station as both the leader of the Inquisition and the daughter of a Bann.

Against the far wall, sat a solitary and clearly well-loved secretariat positively piled high to nearly overflowing with reports, letters and memorabilia. Mnemyn, he knew, kept every letter, as well as the often enclosed trinkets, from well-wishers and critics alike and, in what little free time she had, would often write to as many as she could manage. In fact, Cassandra and Varric often told him they’d find her face down on her camp desk, fast asleep, quill still in her hand and a stack of correspondence under her cheek.

As he was taking in his surroundings and greatly enjoying the touches his beloved had made on her temporary quarters, he sensed Mnemyn spinning into action. At once she hurried past him whilst casting about for somewhere to place the tray. She paused, casting a glance between the fireplace and him, before making a thoughtful noise. In a flash, she darted toward the bed and yanked the coverlet off and began hauling the heavy blanket with her. Intrigued, Cullen watched as she made quick work setting up an impromptu picnic spot before the hearth, complete with pillows for reclining. 

Positively beaming with satisfaction, Mnemyn turned to take the tray from him and, after placing it in the center of the coverlet turned picnic blanket, bounded over to practically pounce on him with a hug and kiss.

Cullen stumbled back a pace before righting them both, chuckling as he returned her affection. “Good morning to you, too.”

Grinning brightly, Mnemyn placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before helping him divest him of his winter gear. “No armor today _and_ breakfast? My, you’re full of surprises.”

Cullen laughed softly as he shrugged out of his cloak. “I couldn’t let you leave this morning without at least stealing a few moments now could I?”

“And I’m glad for it,” she said.

Deciding to be a little bold, Cullen finished by tugging off his leather tunic leaving only his woolen under shirt and slacks. Mnemyn arched a curious brow at him and smirked but made no comment. Instead, she went to sit by the fire to wait for him. He paused only a beat to admire the sway of her hips and the way she half turned to give him a sultry look as she seated herself before he stepped out of his boots and padded across the floor to join her.

They shared light conversation over their meal comprised mostly of mundane topics, but Cullen found he was rather glad for it. In fact, after a moment to consider, he realized their morning had felt blessedly normal – or what he imagined normal might be like. When they’d finished, they propped up the pillows against the bedframe and sat quietly to enjoy one another’s company. Mnemyn, of course, pillowed her head on his shoulder while they sat listening to the fire crackle and pop.

After a dozen or so minutes, he felt her shift and huff out a soft sigh. It wouldn’t be long now before they’d inevitably have to part ways. Cullen closed his eyes a moment, drinking in this precious moment; savoring the feeling of the wonderful woman in his arms, the silence of the winter’s morn and the warmth of the fire. This is what he’d always hoped for. And, of course, something – an ancient magister void-bent on becoming a god, no less – was standing in the way. Perhaps he ought to tell Hawke he had it all wrong. The nickname he’d given her ought to be his own.

“I…should probably start preparing for my day…” she said. From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was not only reluctant but somewhat sad.

“A few more minutes won’t hurt,” he said, his voice a murmur. “Your companions are still fast asleep.”

“Cassandra’s not,” she said.

Cullen chuckled and gave her a light squeeze. “No, I don’t suppose she’s still sleeping.”

“Those poor training dummies…”

He listened as she laughed softly at his side, closing his eyes as he drank in the sound of it. Everything about her was enchanting. Her laugh, the way she smiled at him, how her eyes seemed to twinkle and dance with light. Cullen exhaled as the moment weaved its magic. It was remarkable how one person could make him feel so at ease.

Mnemyn’s voice dragged him from his thoughts a moment later. “I wonder who they’ll choose to haul Sera out of bed today,” she mused. “Cassandra said she refused to do it anymore…”

“I can’t imagine why that might be,” Cullen said. And, despite the fact that his snarky remark earned him a gentle elbow to his ribs, he laughed and, while doing so, could hear Mnemyn attempting to hide a laugh of her own behind her hand. 

“We decided that last night. My aide, James, will have the _distinct_ pleasure of waking her,” he said.

“Cullen!” she said. She reached over to give him a gentle shove. The tone of voice she’d used was playful but she’d used his name as a good-humored admonishment and he glanced down to see her giving him a sardonic smile. “You’re certainly not still upset—” 

“I most certainly am,” he said. “He should’ve known better.”

“Even so…saddling him with Sera is just mean.”

“No, assigning him to waking Sera is a mercy. I thought about putting him on latrine duty,” he said, “ _in the Hissing Wastes_.”

“Oh Maker,” she laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Remind me never to upset you.”

“I sincerely doubt you could,” he said.

“Someone seems to forget the many times we came to loggerheads in the very beginning of all this,” she said airily. “Quite frequently, if my recollection serves me correctly…”

“That hardly counts. We barely knew one another.”

Mnemyn made a thoughtful noise, as if she were considering it, and then snuggled closer. “I suppose you’re right...”

Cullen smiled, satisfied and, although he wanted to acknowledge that, yes, he was indeed very often correct, he decided against it.

“This may sound…odd…” she said, “but those arguments were often quite… _thrilling_.”

“Oh?”

“When you’re determined… you’re _very_ passionate. It often drove me – and still does I’ll admit – to distraction.”

“You’re _more_ attracted to me when I’m angry?” he said, incredulous.

“You’re…fierce, darling. It’s…I—oh Maker…just _thinking_ about it…”  she murmured. Suddenly, she shivered with delight her shoulders arching ever so slightly. Cullen shot her a completely amused look in answer and arched his eyebrows to signal he was waiting for her to elaborate.

“You’ve this—how do I describe it?—Ah yes! This sort of quiet intensity when you’re engaged in debate. It’s almost the same look you don on the field of battle,” she said. Cullen shook his head in disbelief. She had to be joking. Mnemyn continued and, this time, seemed to be genuinely trying to convince him.

“I know it sounds strange, but I’m being completely serious Cullen.”

Cullen affected a look of complete disbelief and leaned back to recline against the bed frame again. While he was getting comfortable, she continued to attempt to explain. “The set of your jaw… the way you furrow your brow just so…”

She sighed wistfully, canting her head to the side as she reached over to trace a delicate finger along his jawline. Again, Cullen was reduced to silence, caught in her appreciative gaze. Inwardly, he marveled for the umpteenth time just exactly how she could render him so utterly immobile or, more aptly, stunned with just the right look and a smile.

She was biting her lip now and the nearly predatory look in her eyes had set his blood alight. _Andreste wept,_ he thought, _surely_ _she must know what she’s doing to me._

And, as if she’d read his very thoughts, Mnemyn batted her eyelashes and smiled sultrily at him and Cullen felt what little restraint he’d managed keep nearly turn to ash in the flames of his desire. For the briefest of moments, he watched as she dragged her tongue across her lower lip before flicking her gaze to the bed – as if asking whether or not they should retire – which was more than enough to spur him to action. 

“Then you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he said. Smirking, Cullen gingerly took her by the waist and gently hoisted her over his shoulder. In her surprise, Mnemyn let out a squeak of surprise and delight as he turned toward the mattress.


	34. Lampposts in winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen decides to surprise the Herald with a romantic breakfast in bed before she departs for Crestwood and, of course, breakfast isn't the only thing shared. Afterwards, Cullen sees her off and learns Dorian is staying behind to research something for the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are over and took a great deal of my time thus, this didn't get edited until this evening. I do hope this smutty bit of literature makes up for it being late. ;)  
> <3, Scrivener

_Haring 14, Dragon 9:41  
_

* * *

Without another word, Cullen swung about and made a bee-line to Mnemyn’s bed.

Gently, he laid her down before him and watched as she stretched out alluringly, arching slightly off the mattress to give him a good view of her cleavage while looking sultrily through her lashes at him. A shiver of delight ran down his spine.

“Temptress,” he said. In answer Mnemyn licked her lips. Thinking better of his previous sentiment, he continued. “No—you’re a Desire demon. That’s the only explanation I have…”

“For?”

“For how utterly and completely infatuated I am with you,” he said softly.

Mnemyn blushed and reached up to cup his cheek, dragging the pad of her thumb across his cheekbone. “With me?”

“Is that so difficult to imagine?” he teased. He watched while she seemed to consider her answer and, while he waited, turned his head to place a gentle kiss in her palm.

“I suppose not,” she said.

“You _suppose_?”

Completely caught up in the lightheartedness of the moment, Cullen laughed and leaned in to kiss and nuzzle her neck with his beard stubble causing her to squirm and laugh.

Through laughter, Mnemyn attempted a reply which only served to egg him on. “Yes! I suppose!”

“What am I to do with you, you wicked thing?”

“You’ll just have to smite me.”

“Smite you?” he said. “I’ll do more than smite you, witch…”

“You can try…”

With a dancer’s grace, Mnemyn used his momentum against him, flipping and pinning him to the mattress. She giggled, tossing her hair over her left shoulder as she held him there and when he pretended to struggle she merely smiled down on him like the cat who was about to swallow the canary. Of course, this stoked his desires to an all new level and he groaned as he felt his half erect cock go rigid, pressing almost painfully against the placket of his trousers.

This didn’t bother him so much as the sheer need he seemed to feel any time he was in her presence as of late. It was, truly, as if he was intoxicated and utterly bewitched by her charms. And the worst part, if he could call it that, was she knew it and was completely and unabashedly ready to use it against him.

“You know, I’m told you were inordinately preoccupied with our siege equipment in Haven.”

“And?”

“Something about needing to calibrate the trebuchets… _frequently_.”

“I still fail to see how that has anything to do with—”

She placed a gentle finger to his lips to shush him while smiling gently. “I think if you’re going to play conquering general with me as your prize, you’ll need your personal … siege equipment properly… _calibrated_ …”

Several seconds passed as Cullen’s brain fought to reconcile what she was getting at. He blinked, looking up at her owlishly. _Properly calibrated? Surely she doesn’t mean…_

Mnemyn smiled wolfishly and slid off his slim hips, her hands falling to the placket of his trousers to tug gently at the buttons which secured them. Cullen felt his heart at first skip a beat and then begin thundering in his chest. He leaned up on his elbows to watch what she was doing, his eyebrows slowly raising toward his hairline in surprise and anticipation.

_Oh sweet Maker!_

He watched, incredulous, as she deftly and nimbly unbuttoned him and relieved him of his trousers and smalls. As she pulled them off him, she fixed him with a positively predatory look before tossing the offending clothing over her shoulder. Cullen swallowed hard as he watched her perfect pink tongue dart across her lips once more.

“A-are you sure you—” he began, still staring at her in surprise as she knelt beside him and began to lean in.

She answered him by placing a firm but tender kiss to the frenulum of his cock, a slow, sensual smile spreading across her lips as she did.

Cullen shivered as he stared at her in disbelief. “I-I mean if…if you—”

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Yet again, he was making quite a fool of himself. Mnemyn sat up slowly, a look of concern on her face. “Cullen, has no one ever—”

“No,” he said.

“That’s, uhm, a shame,” she said. “I can stop if you’d prefer—”

“ _No._ ”

The slightest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips now and she canted her head to the side. “Very well.”

Slowly, she leaned down to trail kisses along his torso, the fringe of her bangs brushing his hip which sent shivers up his spine. Twice he had to reconcile this was truly happening and twice Cullen had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. As he lay there watching and feeling her trail kisses down his shaft, Cullen felt a sweat break across his brow as he continued to watch her.

Very quickly, he found himself not knowing what to do with his hands at one point but before he could continue to panic, Mnemyn eased the length of his cock into her mouth which sent him clutching for the sheets. Several more minutes of this and his hands were wound tightly in them and he was wringing the material so tightly, he wondered briefly if he’d rip them. Not that he had much time to think of such things.

His wife-to-be was extremely skilled and had, on more than one occasion, not only wrung a heady moan from him but sent him crashing back into the pillows, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head in sheer pleasure.

He felt as though he would conflagrate on the spot.

It took every ounce of discipline Cullen had to keep his hips from twitching or, more accurately, jerking upward as Mnemyn began to twirl her tongue deftly along his shaft on the upstroke, pausing to suck the head of his cock before plunging it deep in her throat again.

Just as she seemed to be redoubling her efforts, Cullen could feel himself slipping ever closer to climaxing.

And now, arguably one of the most disciplined men in Thedas had a difficult decision to make. He could let her bring him to completion with her beautiful, amazingly skilled mouth or he could tell her to stop, attempt to recover some control over his faculties and make love to her.

The former he wanted _very_ badly. He’d no idea a woman could be so incredibly adept at oral sex nor how incredibly good it felt. But, if he allowed himself release now, he ran the risk of not being able to make love to her; the hour was growing late and it wouldn’t be too much longer before someone came to take her away.

Unable to bear the thought of not being able to make love to her before she left on her month long mission, Cullen fought to find the wherewithal to tell her to stop.  
“ _Mn-emyn_!”

He could scarcely recognize his own voice. At once she slowed, her blue-green eyes fixing him with a look of anticipation.

“I’m very…close…” he managed through labored breathing. “You—I want… _Maker’s breath_ …”

In an instant, she was upright and, before he had even propped himself up on his elbows, she was straddling his lap. As she settled herself, the head of his cock pressed against the wet, warm opening of her cunt. Suddenly, Cullen reckoned something seemed out of sorts. When had she removed them? How had he missed that?

And then, it dawned on him – she hadn’t been wearing any small clothes the entire time he’d been here – and this realization nearly sent him careening over the edge.

“You weren’t wearing knickers?” he said, incredulous.

She smirked, positioning herself over his cock. “You’re very observant this morning, my darling Commander.”

He grasped her hips and guided her onto him. His head dipped forward, chin practically on his chest, teeth clenched as he fought to control himself. The sensation of his cock sheathed inside her was nearly overwhelming. At the moment, he could barely string a rational thought together and was vaguely aware of his surroundings. There was sweat trickling down the back of his neck and down his forehead. And, was that him panting and whining? Maker, he wasn’t going to make it.

“Breathe, darling.” Came her calm and tender words. “Focus on me.”

Cullen did as she’d bid and, upon opening his eyes, watched as she pulled her night shirt off over her head. He watched as she tossed her head, freeing her raven hair from the garment before she tossed it away. The pleasant surprise and the breathlessness that followed were short-lived, however, as the slight jostling brought their bodies closer together. Cullen groaned throatily as he felt his cock being driven ever so slightly deeper Mnemyn.

“Andraste wept, you’re beautiful…” he said. He lay there beneath her for a beat, marveling at her beauty and the intense look of love and lust in her eyes. And it was for him and no one else.

The realization of that fact hit him like a thunderbolt and a surge of pride, love and intense longing flooded through him. Like a shot, Cullen sat up and caught her lips, kissing her fervently while clawing at his own tunic. After a few moments of struggling, he was able to pull it off with her help and, as his hands settled on her hip and lower back, he felt warm, naked breasts pressed against his chest. Cullen moaned into her mouth which she echoed a moment later as he pulled her flush with him. He imagined it was on account of his short, springy chest hairs teasing her nipples.

His lungs positively burning for lack of air, Cullen reluctantly broke the kiss and watched as Mnemyn smiled, her expression one of wanton desire. She planted one hand behind her on his thigh, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. He was about to ask what she might be smiling at but was shocked into silence when his betrothed began to rock her hips. He groaned and leaned forward to trail passionate kisses along her collar bone to her neck. After just a few moments, she was moaning breathily, and the pace of her thrusts seemed to be responded to his ministrations.

Quite pleased with himself, he leaned back to look at her and just seeing how much she was enjoying this – him – sent such a thrill through him, he fell backwards on his elbows. He lay there for a few moments, panting, vaguely aware he was winding his fingers in the sheets again, marveling over how utterly delightful this new position was.

Mnemyn made love like no other woman he’d ever been with. She genuinely seemed to enjoy not just having sex but him as her partner. Moments ticked by and he watched as her expression became more wanton. And the expressions she made as he drove into her –wonderment and absolute joy -- only served to stoke his desire for her higher.  
  
Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, the silence of the pre-dawn broken with their combined moans of pleasure. And, the more she seemed to enjoy him, the faster their pace became. Cullen, finally unable to keep his own desires at bay, had begun to buck his hips in time with Mnemyn and the result was earthshattering. She had to lean forward now, bracing both hands on his shoulders for support, as they continued edging closer to their climaxes.

Pleasure thrummed through him now, every exhale seemed to come out as a moan. Closer, faster, harder, were his only thoughts. He felt her bangs brush his shoulder and watched as her chin dipped low toward her collar bone. She was on the cusp. Cullen redoubled his efforts, thrusting upward until she was keening and repeating the word yes over and over with each thrust.

He felt her nails dig into his shoulders and watched as her entire body went rigid as she came, his name shouted reverently over and over. This was enough to send him crashing over the edge, following her in climax, his hands splayed across her hips as he drove into her with stilted, jerking thrusts.

White, sparkling joyous release settled over him, pleasure rippling across his skin and up his spine.

As he slowly floated back to his senses, he could feel Mnemyn laying heavily on his chest, panting against his shoulder. Cullen pressed a gentle kiss to her temple which coaxed a deeply satisfied murmur from her. After a moment, he felt her shiver and, despite his reluctance to move and end this perfect moment, Cullen reached to draw the sheet over them.

Several minutes passed and Mnemyn turned her head to smile bashfully at him. “Not sure what came over me…”

“Me,” he said, “And I’m certainly not complaining.”

“And you say I’m the Desire demon,” she quipped, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

They lay in each other’s arms for another dozen minutes, speaking quiet words of love and adoration to one another in the wake of their love making. It was then Cullen realized he ought to see what time it was and, with a heavy sigh, cast a glance toward the easterly facing windows.

Unsurprised, he saw the pearlescent light of dawn growing ever brighter on the horizon and turned to coax his wife-to-be into action. Mnemyn seemed to burrow closer to him, muttering something about not wanting to go and stupid, mad magisters and their ill-timed bids for power.

He couldn’t help but smile at her wish to stay with him and, tilting her chin upwards, kissed her lovingly before playfully admonishing her. “Much as I hate to say it, we have duties to attend to. Ones we cannot put off forever. Said mad Magister wins and we’ll have no more mornings like these…”

Mnemyn groaned and rolled onto her back, dramatically flopping her arms out to her sides. “This is completely unfair on so many levels…”

Cullen propped himself up on his elbow to look at her and, upon finding her usually sunny expression replaced with one of complete annoyance and gloom, reached over to gently tilt her chin toward him. When she made eye contact with him, he managed a small smile. “Yes… but if it hadn’t been for Corypheus, we’d have never met.”

Mnemyn gave him a lopsided grin before leaning up to kiss his cheek. Before he could respond in kind, she rolled away and out of bed, bounding to her feet to stretch. “It’s odd, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“To be able to find something as lovely as this amidst something so awful.”

Cullen shrugged and slid out of bed to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on her hips as he spoke into her left ear. “I suppose… but you— _us_ —we’re certainly worth fighting for.”

She turned around and, leaning up on her tip toes, pulled him into a warm, deeply loving kiss. When they parted, she looked up at him through her lashes, her cheeks slightly rosy with blush. “Yes, I think that’s a…uhm… yes, a fair assessment, Commander.”

Cullen chuckled and watched as she drifted away and in the direction of the trunk that sat at the foot of her bed. He marveled at her many facets – her confidence and leadership in the face of adversity tempered by her kindness and gentleness in private – as he, too, began to dress for the day.

Several minutes passed between them as they pulled on tunics, trousers, boots, and belts. And, when he could stand the silence no more, Cullen said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m going to miss this—a-and you, of course,” he said.

Mnemyn smiled warmly and reached up to finish buttoning the last button on his tunic. “As will I. Not just because of… our intimacy. This morning was just so…”

“Delightfully normal?”

“Yes! And blessedly unhurried. I feel so relaxed,” she said. Cullen responded by slanting her a smug grin which quickly earned him a playful shove.

He helped her buckle into her armor and shimmy into her buff jacket and, while she went to retrieve her travelling pack, saddle bags and staff, he hurriedly pulled on his winter weather gear. Everything now in place, they banked the fire and she escorted him to his tower so he could dawn his own armor.

That done to his exacting standards, he escorted her to the stables where her team had gathered. When they arrived, he noted both Varric and Bull were grinning like fools and Blackwall was busily doing his best to ignore them all under the guise of adjusting the tack of his horse. Meanwhile, Sera glowered at him from her perch on the stable fence. Had the kitchen staff said something? How could everyone know?

Glancing in Mnemyn’s direction, he had his answer. His betrothed was practically glowing with delight. As they drew near to where the Seeker was grilling two of Cullen’s own aides, Cassandra looked up to fix them with a stern look. Upon seeing Mnemyn’s expression, the Seeker’s own look softened considerably and she gave him a short nod of what seemed like approval.

“There you are,” she said. From her tone, she was only _mildly_ annoyed. “I was about to send someone to fetch you.”

“It appears you needn’t have bothered, Cassandra,” Vivienne said, “as our dear Commander took the liberty of doing so.”

“Yes,” Bull remarked casually, “Cullen’s always _on top of things_.”

Solas heaved a heavy sigh at the remark, muttering something about childishness as he swung into the saddle of his tawny Hart. The animal seemed to either sense the elf’s annoyance or, possibly, understand him, as it gave Bull a sharp look before holding its head higher, snorting in what could only be described in an indignant fashion before stepping primly in the direction of the drawbridge.

Behind him, Sera began to guffaw and, as he glanced back to give her a strong look of disapproval, saw the young woman in the process of nearly losing her balance from her perch on the fence. Without missing a beat – or turning his head for that matter – Bull snatched her up by the scruff of her shirt before planting her on her mount. Sera, of course, glowered at him, crossing her arms over her chest to pout. Cullen glanced at Mnemyn who’s only answer was a shrug. Seeing she was of a mind to ignore it, he followed suit and instead turned to offer her a hand up into her own saddle.

Just as she had settled herself, Dorian meandered up, covering a yawn with the back of his hand as he drew even with his left shoulder. “I told myself I was going to sleep in today,” he grumbled, “but some _terribly considerate_ person, whom I can only guess was the Iron Bull, decided to flip my mattress – with me still in it – onto the floor some minutes ago.”

“You’re welcome!”

Cullen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end followed by the tell-tale crackle-hum of lightning gathering a charge. Without missing a beat, the former templar reached back to stay Dorian’s hand, earning him a brief, deeply annoyed look from the mage, before turning to cast an annoyed look of his own on the man in question.

Bull, who’d been watching their entire exchange with a great deal of amusement, merely shrugged and swung into his own saddle in answer while smiling in a most self-satisfied manner. Dorian sighed dramatically and let the charge disperse all the while muttering something about Bull and comeuppance under his breath between what Cullen could only guess were curses in the Tevinter’s native tongue.

“If we’re done _misbehaving_ ,” Cassandra said firmly, her tone dripping with annoyance, “we should depart. Leliana’s scouts report a storm is forming on the shores of Lake Calenhad. If we are to stay ahead of it, we must leave promptly.”

“Yes,” Mnemyn said. Cullen could hear the shift in her tone and demeanor. Looking up, it was the Inquisitor looking down upon him. He gave her a curt nod, which she returned before ordering the troupe to move out.

“Commander, Sister Nightingale, Altus Pavus,” she said stiffly. “I shall see you on the Storm Coast in a month’s time.”

“Be sure to leave some Venitori for me to smite, Petal,” Dorian said. “You can’t be allowed to have all the fun, you know.” 

“Of course, Your Worship,” he and Leliana said in unison. Cullen brought his fist to his chest in salute, which Mnemyn acknowledged with a playful wink before turning her mount and putting her heels gently to its flanks.

He, Dorian and Leliana stood for some minutes watching the group until they could barely see them in the distance.

“Come,” Leliana said. “We have much to do while Her Worship is away.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said. Despite his agreement, the mage made no move to follow. Judging by the smirk tugging at his lips, the mage didn’t have work in mind. When she was out of earshot, he leaned in close to finally reveal his cunning plan. “Chess over lunch?”

“I—”

“You do realize Petal has instructed me to keep you from working yourself to death, don’t you? I am, of course, all too happy to oblige her,” Dorian said.

Cullen groaned and tossed up his hands in resignation. “Fine.”

 _Maker’s breath, why did I agree to let Dorian stay behind?_ Cullen thought as he trudged off toward his office, the Tevinter mage’s playful laughter echoing through the bailey behind him.

It was going to be a long four weeks….


	35. Accidental friendships and grim news from the King's Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Inquisitor journeys to Crestwood, Dorian begins his research of Tevinter lineages in hopes of learning the Elder One's origins. Although busy, he still manages to find time to pester Cullen into a daily game of chess. In the evenings, both he and Rylen manage to drag their grumpy friend to the tavern in hopes of distracting him from missing his lady love. And, shortly before they depart to rendezvous with the Inquisitor, Cullen and Leliana receive some grim news from Archanist Dagna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're having a lovely weekend all! I am in the midst of research papers and prepping for final exams for my first eight weeks. I've been working on chapter 35 off and on when I had time and happened to finish it this evening. I hope you enjoy it! Next chapter, we'll meet two new characters and make the journey across the Waking Sea to beat the stuffing out of Sebastian's army!! Yeah!!

_ Haring 16 - 26, Dragon 9:41; Skyhold _

Just as Leliana had predicted, the days following the Inquisitor’s departure had been exceedingly busy. Both she and Josephine had been working tirelessly to court, persuade and even finagle a number of Orlesian nobles into sponsoring or extending an invitation to a ball Empress Celene was rumored to be throwing. The duo was tirelessly sending correspondence and hosting meetings toward this end as the event was to be held in just three months’ time.

Cullen, of course, found merely entertaining the idea of the Inquisitor attending such an event in any capacity – official or otherwise – to be positively ridiculous and frequently let both Leliana and Josephine know his thoughts on the matter. Try as he might, however, neither woman would budge on their respective positions, both insisting that, if the Inquisition were to survive, they would need more support from Orlais. And, apparently, the only way to accomplish their goal was to meddle in the political affairs of a high-strung and increasingly unstable empire.

After being curtly told to keep his nose where it belonged, Cullen decided it was in his own best interest to keep his own counsel, lest he be dragged into the planning – a threat Leliana made during their last terse conversation on the subject. Maker only knew what Leliana might have him do and he was not about to tempt fate and find out.

Instead, Cullen focused on training and recruiting as well as investigating any new lead he came across regarding the Red Templars and their dubious general, Samson. Despite how busy these tasks kept him, he'd somehow allowed Dorian to coax him into playing chess nearly every day over luncheon. Granted, it wasn’t difficult to talk him into playing a match after all, it was one of his favorite past times. What did surprise him was the ease in which Dorian and Rylen had talked him into patronizing the tavern nearly every evening. In fact, he’d become so much a fixture at the Herald’s Rest that on evenings he opted to work late, his men would comment the following morn that he’d been missed.

This, of course, had completely baffled him and it took a great deal of cajoling from both Dorian and Rylen to make him admit – grudgingly of course – that his men not only looked up to him but admired him a great deal.

Another change that surprised him was his choice of sleeping quarters. Instead of keeping his residence in the loft above his office as Leliana had, he assumed, hoped he would, Cullen opted to stay in the shared men’s dormitory. While the loft was pleasant enough and a handy place to have access to when he fell ill with a particularly crippling Lyrium withdrawal induced headache, Cullen soon found living alone was rather unpleasant.  In truth, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d had a room to himself and found the silence and lack of conversation rather depressing.

And, despite her prolonged absence, the Inquisitor still found ways to touch their lives from leagues away. For he and Rylen, she sent parcels of medicinal tea, books and other small trinkets she thought they might find amusing. In fact, just three days before he, Leliana and Dorian were to depart to make the trip to rendezvous with the Inquisitor, Kayleigh brought in a small parcel addressed to him.

He’d been reading the most recent reports Leliana’s scouts had delivered regarding criminal activity along the route he was to lead their moderate contingent of soldiers along and was surprised by a knock on the door. Without looking up, he bid them enter and, as the door swung open, he looked up to see his young aide bustling in, a bright smile on her face.

“What’s this?”

“It’s addressed to you, Commander,” she said, “From Her Worship.”

Cullen arched a brow. It was certainly far too large to be more tea. As Kayleigh was still standing before his great wooden desk, hands outstretched to proffer the parcel to him, he had no other recourse but to take it from her. And, as he made to sit it aside, he noted the eager look in her eyes. As she looked as though she might burst from excitement, Cullen decided it best to open it now.

Frowning, he cleared a space and slid it to the center of his desk. After a quick examination to determine the most expeditious way to open it, Cullen snipped away the twine and pulled away the wrapper which revealed a wooden box. After a few moments of searching his desk drawers, he located a small pry bar and made quick work of the lid. Inside he found a note atop sawdust shavings which read:

_Commander of my heart,_

_I do so hope you enjoy this miniature military piece. I thought a trebuchet fitting, considering our last conversation. Perhaps when you see it, it will remind you calibrations are in order. You must stay in practice after all._

_Love,_

_M_

Cullen smiled despite a deep crimson blush spreading across his cheeks. He, of course, was remembering Mnemyn’s very clever turn of phrase the morning she’d departed. Kayleigh, who had no knowledge of the double meaning of ‘calibrate the trebuchets,’ seemed completely bewildered by her Commander’s sudden embarrassment. And, although he explained the gift was certainly generous and unexpected, he got the feeling that Kayleigh suspected there was more to the story than he let on.  
  


* * *

  
Cullen, of course, wasn’t the only person to have received gifts from Mnemyn during her absence. She’d sent spices to Maeve, luxurious padded slippers and warm clothes for their flock of house maids, and to Dennet, she sent saddles, tack and several casks of his favorite honeyed mead. To Dorian, Leliana and Josephine, she sent fine wines, parchment, quills and, in Leliana’s case, shoes. It never ceased to amaze Cullen how she managed to remember the vast castle staff by name, not to mention the myriad of things they most cherished or yearned for. Yet day after day, small parcels, crates and boxes arrived for their quartermaster containing all manner of goods.

Parcels weren’t the only things she sent, of course. In addition to her daily reports, sometimes of which there were no less than two, there were personal letters to both he and Dorian. And it seemed the further away Mnemyn traveled, the more letters she wrote. In fact, such a steady stream of correspondence arrived from her that Leliana took it upon herself to deliver the messages, often sealed with red wax instead of Inquisition gold and which almost always smelled of her perfume, in person just to tease him.

 

_Cullen,_

_We have successfully closed the rift in the middle of the lake and, along the way of course, discovered the dear mayor drowned a great many unfortunate souls during the Blight. He claims it was a mercy and they were tainted but the evidence I’ve uncovered is to the contrary. Could please coordinate with Sister Leliana to bring this man to justice? I suppose we can hold him until Ferelden figures out what it wants to do with him._

_In other news, the renovations of Caer Bronach are complete and, as I’m sure Leliana will tell you, her little birds have come to roost. The roads are once again safe from brigands and we’ve dispatched a wyvern troubling the local farmers. All is well._

_More formal and detailed…details are included in my report, of course._

_Maker, I miss you. I’d tell you how much…if it weren’t for an annoying elf girl hanging over my------ *illegible writing followed by several crude and very lewd drawings in Sera’s serial killer hand.----_

_Maker have mercy! Now I understand why Maeve was so eager to get her out from under foot. My apologies for her…artwork. I’ve just about run out of parchment so I cannot rewrite this lest I run the risk of not being able to write you tomorrow._

_Love,_

_Mnemyn_

 

Dorian had been quite busy as well during Mnemyn’s deployment. Shortly before she left, a rather moderately sized crate of tomes arrived from Minrathous. Cullen learned that Josephine had acquired them at Dorian’s request and that the tomes were actually not magical in nature, as he suspected, but contained the excruciatingly detailed lineages of every noble house, current or extinct, to ever exist within the Imperium. When he inquired as to how such material would help their cause, Dorian explained that the lineages went back to before the First Age and he hoped to learn the true identity of the Elder One.

Although largely unfamiliar with Tevinter families, Cullen saw Dorian’s task as a noble one and, thus, offered his assistance. This seemed to please Dorian immensely and, although he did not ask Cullen to do any actual research, he often stopped by to bounce theories and ideas off him in the afternoon hours. These conversations inevitably led them to the chess table and, much to Cullen’s surprise, this soon replaced their usual lunchtime routine.

In the last few days before he departed for the Storm Coast, Cullen had become aware of a series of disturbing reports coming out of eastern Ferelden. At first, he hadn’t thought much of the original report which had been delivered a week prior from one of Leliana’s scouts. It informed him that the Chantry graveyard in South Reach had been not only ransacked but nearly destroyed in the dead of night. Thinking it was nothing more than simple grave robbery – such vile acts had been on the rise since the Breach appeared in the sky – he sat the report aside. It wasn’t until two additional reports, which outlined what specific graves had been robbed and two additional graveyards along the Kings’ Road had been decimated, that Cullen began to suspect something most foul was afoot.

“And your agent is certain the other graves contained Templar remains?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. She was frowning, staring at the map. After a moment, she took out several markers and placed them at each robbery location. Almost immediately, a pattern began to emerge.

“Maker have mercy,” he muttered. “It’s leading away from Therinfal.”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “It would seem safe to assert some few Red Templars possibly survived the Inquisitor’s…cleansing.”

“But why templar graves?”

“Is there anything particularly special about templar burials, Commander?”

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Sister Nightingale.”

“Are templars buried with their philters or, perhaps, magically imbued items?”

“No, as we are sworn not to seek wealth, everything we own belongs to the Order. Upon death, everything but the templar’s armor is retained and returned to the armory.”

Just as Cullen had finished speaking and the two of them had returned to grimly contemplating the map of Ferelden for clues to where the rogue grave robbers might head next, there was a knock at the war room door. Both advisors paused to exchange looks. As far as he’d known, no one knew either he nor Leliana were in here.

“Enter,” Leliana said.

The smaller inset door creaked open and, to their surprise, a dwarf, not a human, appeared. It was Archanist Dagna.

“Hi there,” she said. She was smiling at them in her usual sunny demeanor. “When I could find neither of you in your respective offices, I thought you might be here. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Cullen said.

As she came fully into the room, Cullen could see she was holding a small parcel and several reports. As she approached, she held up the stack of papers, waving it slightly for emphasis as she spoke. “I, ah, well I’ve been reading these strange reports your agents sent regarding the slew of grave burglaries across the Ferelden countryside, Sister Leliana, and I must say, I find them very curious.”

Cullen arched an eyebrow at the younger woman but said nothing. He hadn’t been aware Dagna had been receiving reports. He supposed it made sense, though. She had been assigned to investigate the odd and magical in hopes of gleaning information with which to improve the Inquisition’s arms and armor. That she’d been interested in the grave robberies struck him as odd.

“I think our culprits are Red Templars,” she said.

“Yes, we’ve come to the very same conclusion,” Leliana said.

“Oh, excellent!” Dagna said. Her brows furrowed now as her expression darkened and her tone grew much more serious as she spoke again. “I think may know what the Red Templars were after.”

“Go on,” Cullen said.

“You see, I’ve come to believe that because templars imbibe lyrium at regular frequencies, there is an overabundance of it in their systems. As I’ve come to understand it, a great deal of it is expended upon exercising your—their abilities.”

Cullen nodded along, crossing his arms in front of him as he listened. Although he’d once questioned how—or even if—Dagna could help the Inquisition, she’d proven herself to be very clever and this was quite a good example of her ability to understand magic and its application despite the fact that dwarves could never accomplish such fetes themselves. But where could she possibly be going with this, he wondered. Seeing as she was looking at him rather expectantly, clearly hoping he’d validate her theory, he answered her. “Yes, depending on the ability used and the length of time spent using it, lyrium’s effects only last a few hours. To continue, a templar needs to consume a steady supply to remain at peak efficiency.”

Dagna seemed delighted by his answer, smiling brightly at him. “Yes, I thought as much! I was curious and, after observing the templars of the Inquisition, I’ve come to realize that like anything else – food, water, medicine – metabolized or used lyrium has to go somewhere, right? But I’ve found there is no evidence to support it’s expelled from the body via, ah, natural means. So I’ve postulated that it’s lingering somewhere in the body – and I say this largely because of the after effects, the withdrawal symptoms. A person wouldn’t experience them if some of it weren’t lingering in the body.”

“All right, but what becomes of this residual lyrium?” Cullen said.

“Oooh, I like that turn of phrase,” Dagna said. She sat her things aside and pulled out a small notepad from her belt and jotted the words down for later reference. “Anyway, where was I? Oh right! The longer a templar has imbibed lyrium the worse the symptoms become. You yourself were a templar for at least twenty years, Commander. If I recall correctly, you’d been a knight for only a short time when we first met at Kinloch Hold. Have you experienced any ill effects, Ser Cullen?”

Cullen stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “Yes, although I’ve stopped taking lyrium.”

“Oh, excellent! Can I examine you? And would it be possible to take a sample of your blood?”

Cullen stared at her but said nothing. She wanted to study him? He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“You’re one of the few living templars I have access to who’ve survived lyrium withdrawal. The information we learn from you, Commander, will help anyone who comes after you.”

“I…hadn’t quite thought of it that way, I suppose,” he said. “Yes, of course.”

“Excellent. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I remember. Because of this lingering withdrawal and the host of symptoms which accompany it – nightmares, fevers, hallucinations, and, in extreme cases, loss of mental faculties – that I’ve come to believe that small fraction of lyrium is definitely retained in the body after use.

“Furthermore, after extensive use these small bits begin to add up, hence why the condition worsens as templars age. And, knowing what I know of anatomy and soft tissues – which, I’d have to say is fairly extensive – I think I’ve discovered the cause of why lyrium withdrawal is so painful and, in cases of elder templars, deadly.”

Cullen watched as Dagna finally took in a breath. She’d talked this entire time – several minutes in fact – without drawing air. Her excitement was clear but what mystified Cullen was that a non-templar would even think to study lyrium’s effects on the body. But would she be able to come to some sort of conclusion? Or, dare he hope, a cure?

Leliana cleared her throat, bringing him back to the moment. He looked up to see Dagna’s gaze shifting between he and Leliana with eagerness; she was clearly waiting for some signal to continue. He cast a glance to the Nightingale to also find her looking at him expectantly. Mumbling an apology, he nodded indicating he was ready for the Archanist to continue.

“It calcifies, like minerals in the subject’s bones.”

“Maker have mercy…”

Dagna nodded. “I, um, took the liberty of having one of your agents bring back samples of the graves, taking care to handle what remains of the remains of course. I asked that they note the age of each specimen if possible – as I’ve come to understand it, each Chantry keeps a record of those buried in its graveyard.”

Cullen felt sick now, his stomach churning, and he had to lean forward to brace his hands on the war room table. If what Dagna said was true, did that mean he would never be free of the nightmares and hallucinations? That he, and every templar present and future, would never be the same again? Fated to die before their time, their minds gone?

“You’re not going to like what I’ve found…”

“Very well,” Cullen said, “out with it.”

“They’re digging up templars to, well…” she paused, rubbing the back of her neck. It was very clear Dagna was uncomfortable. Which, from what little he knew of her, was odd in and of itself.

“Well?” Cullen pressed her.

“To _eat_ them.”

Cullen stared at the dwarf woman for what seemed like several minutes. Across the table, he heard Leliana gasp and cover her mouth with a gloved hand. “You’re sure of this?”

Dagna nodded grimly and held out the small leather wrapped parcel which she’d been holding the entirety of their conversation. Cullen stared at it, almost afraid to look inside. He had an inkling of what he’d find and, on some level, hoped he was wrong.

Hesitantly, he took the small bundle from her and placed it on the war table in front of him. After several moments to calm his mind, he glanced up to see Leliana also staring at the package. Although her expression was one of mild horror. Their eyes met briefly and the former Left Hand of the Divine nodded to indicate he should open it.

Slowly, Cullen pulled the leather ties that bound the package together and then unrolled the parcel. Inside, he found bone fragments as well as several partial bones. Each seemed to emanate a faint blue shimmer and, in one specimen, actually emitted a steady blue glow. There was no doubt; the bones were most certainly laced with lyrium, just as Dagna had said they would be. Unfortunately, this wasn’t what surprised him.

On the largest remaining bone – what appeared to be the remains of a shin bone – were what appeared to be deep gouges. Leaning in, he scrutinized the marks and, after a moment, recoiled in disgust. They were jagged teeth marks. Several of the grooves even bore flecks of red lyrium and it appeared as though the vile crystals had begun to take root and grow.

Cullen stumbled back a pace or two, his right arm flailing for something to hold onto. Thankfully, he found a chair near at hand and half fell, half leapt into it. His stomach roiled and he felt as though he would retch. Leliana seemed to be having a similar reaction although instead of wobbling away to find a seat, she fell to her knees in prayer.

From Dagna’s pained expression, he could see she wasn’t yet done doling out the bad news. Maker, how could anything possibly be worse than monsters robbing the graves of templars to devour their remains?

“I’m afraid this may get worse before it gets better,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Leliana said.

“As you well know, if a templar is cut off from lyrium, withdrawal can be excruciatingly painful. Despite being made of the red stuff, I’ve come to believe the red templars do still need a source of sustenance.”

Cullen felt a cold sweat break across his brow and turned to see Leliana bracing her hands on the edge of the war table. Was she turning green? Considering the subject, he imagined he might be doing the same any moment now.

“You mean…” Leliana said. Cullen watched as the Nightingale’s eyes widened ever so slightly as the realization of what the red templars were doing sank in.

“If they can’t find bones, I fear they’ll cannibalize any templar or mage they come across. And, if they can’t find any, they may even cannibalize other red templars.”

The gravity of the subject weighed heavily on the trio gathered around the war room table, so much so Cullen imagined one could hear a pin drop. No one spoke and, as the silence stretched uncomfortably between them, Cullen’s mind whirled as he tried to put a number on approximately how many members the Order had inducted since his own initiation. _Hundreds_. Scattered across all of Thedas. Not to mention how many mages had been in the circles and they outnumbered templars nearly five to one. _Thousands._ Nearly half of which were now members of the Inquisition.

Suddenly, the war room door swung open and a moment later, a familiar tenor voice glibly broke the silence. “What’ve the lot of you been discussing? The finer points of Necromancy? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Cullen looked up to see Dorian standing a few feet from the door, a look of concern writ across his face. He gestured weakly to Dagna and quietly asked her to catch the mage up on her theory. She cheerfully did so and, much to Cullen’s surprise, Dorian nodded along – even asking several questions – to her explanation. When she’d finished, the Tevinter stood scrutinizing the map, his right arm propped in his left hand, chin perched on his fist as he contemplated what Dagna had told him. “Fascinating.”

“Utterly obscene, of course,” Dorian said with an airy flourish of his hand. “But fascinating none the less.”

Cullen slanted him a mildly annoyed look but the mage merely shrugged it off. Realizing there was no sense in admonishing him further, Cullen let it go. On his right, Cullen sensed someone moving. He glanced up to see Dagna fidgeting with one of the map markers. Gently but pointedly, he reached over to take the metal gauntlet, which represented one of his own objectives no less, and placed it back where it originated. She gave him an apologetic smile and before she could inevitably blurt out a lengthy platitude, Cullen held up a gloved hand for silence.

Immediately, Dagna froze, her eyes downcast. Cullen sighed softly and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. The awkward moment passed and he turned to Leliana. “We’ll need to alert the chantries across Thedas—”

“I’ll assemble the agents the Inquisitor gifted me and dispatch them at once,” she said.

“The cultists?”

“Apocalyptic sect they may be,” Leliana said, “the cult of Andraste are no less devoted to our cause.”

When Cullen gave her an arch look in response, she actually huffed in frustration and gave him a sharp look in return. “I _have_ vetted them, Commander.”

Rather proud he’d been able to fluster her, all Cullen could do was smirk. Which, of course, earned him mildly disgusted look from the Nightingale.

“Archanist,” Leliana said, “I trust you’ll continue to monitor the situation. Do you require any further resources?”

“Yes and not as such, no,” Dagna said. “Although, if the Commander would permit me to examine him – and any other Inquisition templars who might be willing – that’d be extremely helpful. Also, I’d like to review Her Worship’s research on lyrium withdrawal and continue her work.”

“I wasn’t aware the Inquisitor was—”

“Actively conducting research on the subject? Not as such,” Cullen said. “It’s been…a bit of a personal project for Her Worship for some years, in fact. I’ll forward your request in this evening’s reports. Though I am fairly certain the answer will be yes.”

“Excellent!” Dagna said. “And the examinations?”

Cullen let out a heavy sigh and tossed a tired gesture in the Archanist’s direction. “Yes, we’ll see to that before I depart. Speak with Kayleigh; she keeps my schedule.”

Dagna, for her part, reacted as he expected she would; clapping giddily while emitting a soft yet high-pitched squeak of joy. Afterwards, the room fell into silence again now and Cullen took the opportunity to adjourn the meeting. As Leliana and Dagna filed out ahead of him, Dorian sidled up alongside him looking much more concerned than Cullen had ever seen before. The mage clearly picked up on his amusement and rolled his eyes. “I can and do often take things seriously, you great armored lummox.”

“As you say,” Cullen said, sotto voce.

“And there’s the sass I’ve grown to love,” Dorian said. “Who knew it was hiding under such a grim veneer? I shall have to alert Varric, I’m sure he’ll be most pleased.”

Cullen snorted, holding the door open for Dorian to go ahead of him. “That will make one of us at least.”

“Oh cheer up,” Dorian said. “Gory their past times may be, the red templars are anything if not predictable. We’ll head them off before they can do any further harm.”

As they walked down the long, torch-lit corridor which led back to the great hall, Dorian made a thoughtful noise. “You mentioned leaving. I take that to mean Prince Vael has not—”

“No,” Cullen grit out. “The stubborn fool refuses to relent. Her Worship indicated she’ll be finished with Inquisition business in Crestwood within a fortnight. You, Leliana, and I shall depart for the Storm Coast in two days.”

Dorian sighed, a long suffering noise which could only be construed as distain mixed with distress. Cullen chortled to himself as they passed into the main hall. “I take that to mean it’s not one of your most favorite destinations?”

“Just thinking about it is making me sea sick...”

Cullen winced at the thought. He himself hadn’t enjoyed his crossing of the Waking Sea either time he’d made the passage, less so the first time of course, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. They had to go. Prince Vael couldn’t be allowed to prevail lest the whole of the Free Marches fall to complete anarchy. Maker wept. As if they needed more problems.

* * *

 

Two mornings later, Cullen sat astride his horse at the end of the drawbridge watching as the fifth and final battalion of the Inquisition’s First Division marched along in smart ranks. Dorian and Rylen stood on either side of him, the latter reading a well-known Ferelden tome on herbology.

“I cannae wait to see th’ look on Prince Vael’s face when we arrive,” Rylen said.

“Unless Her Worship hired a well outfitted navy,” Cullen said, “I doubt it’ll be one of surprise.”

“Sister Leliana’s agents indicated Prince Sebastian has 15,000 men under his command,” Rylen argued, “spread ‘cross th’ harbor an’ two gates. They’ve been there close t’two months; their morale must be at an all-time low.”

“Be that as it may,” Cullen said, “we mustn’t underestimate our opponent. No matter how brash and pig headed he is.”

“Underestimating, bah. He’s over extended himself pure and simple. Our forces’ll cut through his flank like a hot knife through butter.”

“We shall see,” Cullen said.

“I must say,” Dorian said. “I’m quite surprised you’re so eager to see your own countryman fail, Knight-Captain.”

“As I’ve said b’fore, Sebastian Vael is a pompous arse,” Rylen retorted dryly. “He d’serves t’be hoisted upon his own petard. Especially for demanding Her Worship’s hand in marriage.”

Before Dorian could ask any further questions, Rylen saluted and fell into ranks with the outfit he was in charge of. Both mage and former templar sat in silence for some minutes, only the clink-clank of armor and the heavy footfalls of soldiers between them. Finally, as Cullen wheeled his horse to fall into place with the last group, did Dorian speak again. “They really are quite loyal to you.”

“Were you expecting less, Messere?”

“Having grown up in an environment where everyone is a potential threat or enemy, I suppose it does seem a touch odd to me, yes.”

“Their loyalty to the Inquisitor is nothing short of absolute,” Cullen said.

“Not just to her,” Dorian said.

“They follow my orders.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cullen,” Dorian said. “Your men admire you. And not just for your dashing good looks.”

Cullen groaned and motioned they should be moving along. Dorian maneuvered his horse skillfully into step beside his own all the while giving him a look to indicate he expected a response. Huffing out a frustrated breath, Cullen gestured to the formation at their side. “Yes, so you’ve said. Many times.”

“You undervalue yourself far too often, Cullen. You are a good commander and a good man; both worthy of Her Worship’s hand and command of this army.” Dorian said. When Cullen refused to take the bait, the mage continued. “And I shall continue to remind you as such until you get it through your thick head that it is indeed the truth, Serrah.”

Cullen slouched ever so slightly in his saddle, defeated. Deciding arguing the point further was moot, he remained silent. He supposed Dorian did make a decent point. He had been kind to his troops and that they obeyed him unquestioningly said much for the discipline he instilled in them. And, he had to admit, while he could often be hard on them during training sessions, he had been firm yet fair in his treatment of them. A fact they surely must have appreciated to some degree. Why else would so many continue to stay? Yes, their cause was indeed a noble one but if he’d been a poor leader, the Inquisition would have problems retaining such a large force.

Thankfully, Dorian did not continue to push the issue. For now. In fact, they rode in companionable silence for the remains of the day and, even when they’d broken for camp that evening, the mage had chosen to speak of other things. How much longer he’d remain silent on the subject likely depended largely upon whether or not Cullen uttered anything resembling a self-deprecating remark.

When it was time to depart for the Storm Coast, he opted to take Mnemyn’s most recent letter, tucking it safely into the confines of a pocket within his leather tunic. Each evening, after he’d established camp, guard rotations and ensured things were running smoothly, Cullen would retire to his camp seat by the fire where he’d often retrieve and re-read it.

_My dearest Cullen,_

_We’ve met with Hawke’s Grey Warden contact. As it turns out, the man in question is one of the heroes of the Fifth Blight! Warden Alistair!_

_Maker’s breath, I nearly fainted dead away. It was all I could do not to ask for his autograph although I think he sensed my exuberance and signed the copy of the Grey Warden book you gave me. He was most pleased to see your inscription and, just as you said, he is incredibly fond of cheese. In fact, we had a lovely discussion about it all the way to camp this evening! He asked me to pass along his greetings and his hopes that you are well. I’ve sent the summary of our meeting to you and copied Leliana._

_There’s one matter we will have to waylay until a later date. The high dragon Leliana spoke of turned out to be of the lightning spitting variety. She’s moved into the ruins of an old outpost not far from Caer Bronach. So far, she seems content with poaching the occasional sheep but has done little else to harm or disturb the residents. Well, there was the one unfortunate young man who had his head bitten off but I’d argue going to poke a dragon with a spear in an attempt to prod it into leaving is, obviously, an extremely poor plan._

_As discussed in my last missive, since the good Prince Vael has refused to back down with regards to Kirkwall (and his marriage proposal), we’ll continue as planned. Cassandra intends to have us packed up and ready to move out within the hour. She is, in fact, glaring daggers at me as I am still sitting here writing to you. Ha! At any rate, we’re well on schedule to rendezvous with you and the others at the base camp on the Storm Coast. I’ve received word from the ships I’ve hired that they’re due to arrive not long after I do._

_I should close before she wrings my neck…_

_Varric sends his greetings and has asked me to remind you to smile! Everyone sends their best._

_I miss you so much and cannot wait to see you again._

_Maker watch over you,_

_Love,_

_Mnemyn_

Cullen smiled as he refolded the letter and, as he began to tuck it back into his tunic, he heard Dorian make a noise which could only be described as smug approval.

“Re-reading your last letter from Petal _again?_ ”

“And what of it?” Cullen quipped, “I believe that’s what one does when they receive letters from their intended…”

Dorian shot him an arched look and then smiled genially, laughing softly. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct. And perhaps it’s high past time I stop teasing you about it.”

“The Maker’s miracles are bountiful today...”

Dorian snorted, rolling his eyes. “You do realize I’ll just have to find something else to needle you over.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” Cullen muttered. Dorian smiled, quite satisfied with himself, and instead of provoking further comment, Cullen decided to let the conversation go fallow. Instead, he reached for the stack of reports Jim had just delivered and began to rifle through them. As he was reading a report regarding the storm conditions on the Waking Sea, he was briefly tempted to taunt Dorian with the news but, after a moment to consider this would likely just begin their battle of wits anew, he decided against it.

There’d be plenty of time for such witty banter in the weeks that’d follow. Especially if they were cooped up below decks during a storm. Briefly, he wondered if either of them would fare well in such conditions but shoved the thought aside. As much as he disliked sea travel, there was no sense worrying about it now – or really at all – it would happen regardless.

Briefly, he entertained the hope Kirkwall would somehow scrape together the numbers to repel Sebastian’s army. But, even with Aveline and Fenris leading them, it was a far off hope—especially considering the size of the Starkhaven army. Why was it everyone had chosen now, the middle of a crisis, to make more trouble he’d never know. Not that it mattered much. It’d be over soon enough and Cullen couldn’t wait to see the look on Sebastian’s face when he bested him. It would be glorious.


	36. Arrival on the Storm Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, Rylen, Dorian, and Leliana arrive at the Inquisition base camp in the Storm Coast to wait for the Inquisitor and the ships that will take them across the Waking Sea to deal with Prince Sebastian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hello. I know it's been forever since I updated and, for that, I am deeply sorry. I want you to know, not a day went by that I didn't think about finishing this story. But completing my Bachelor's degree, chronic depression/anxiety, and dealing with some pretty heavy life events kept me from doing so. I've pages of notes on my phone and in notebooks for future chapters and I have been busily writing and revising material for the next 10 chapters. That's right. I am back and in a big way. There are at least two dozen chapters left, probably more so I hope that doesn't scare anyone away. 
> 
> As of yet, I don't have a clear plan for updating but, for now, I'll stick to a once-per-week update schedule. Also, I am working on a few companion art pieces and have started a Facebook page for Broken Chains, Mended Heart (though I'm considering tumblr because I don't really like Facebook. I guess that's my first question for y'all: Facebook or Tumblr? And how many more chapters do you want to see? 
> 
> Anyway, I am glad to be back and am looking forward to finally finishing this epic story!

_ Haring 27 - Wintermarch 10, Dragon 9:42 _ __  
__ Main Inquisition base camp, Storm Coast  
  


The trip to the Storm Coast had been blessedly uneventful. Throughout the two week trek north and east, Cullen and Rylen kept the men moving at a steady pace. And, with no obstacles in their path, they’d managed to make exceedingly good progress.

Dorian proved to be a fine traveling companion and the trio continued their evening ritual of sharing a few drinks while unwinding, usually with Cullen and Dorian playing a game of chess while Rylen amused himself by writing letters to his sweetheart, noodling ideas for inventions, and sketching all manner of people and wildlife they’d encountered along the way.

Leliana, as was her want, remained occupied with her ravens and only spoke to Cullen in the mid-afternoon to apprise him of the goings on in Skyhold and any pertinent information relating to Corypheus’ movements. Cullen couldn’t decide if this was a good omen or a bad one. Eventually, he concluded it was best not to borrow trouble and not to worry about it.

The Inquisition's forces arrived unscathed and on-time at the designated rendezvous point - the Inquisition’s forward encampment at the border of the Storm Coast - during a slight lull in the weather. They were met by Inquisition Scout Harding and a man Cullen presumed from the heraldry on his clothing, a member of the Blades of Hessarian.

“Welcome, Commander Cullen,” Harding said. She gave him a quick salute then motioned to the man at her side. “This is--”

“Ivor of the Blades,” the man said. “As you are Commander of the Herald’s army and the highest ranking member of the Inquisition, the Blades of Hessarian are at your disposal until Her Worship arrives.”

It took considerable effort, but Cullen managed a small, polite smile and nodded to the man. Judging by his appearance, Ivor seemed to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, was well equipped for battle, and carried himself as a man of both skill and honor. But what had raised Cullen’s concern, was the man’s statement about ‘ranking members’ of the inquisition. He was almost certain that this, in conjunction with Ivor cutting Harding off when she attempted to introduce him, was a clear indication he’d been giving her a difficult time. Cullen glanced at Harding and had his answer: the look of sheer exasperation on their most trusted scout’s face told him all he needed to know. Ivor had indeed been quite a pill.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, “I’m sure your expertise will be quite a compliment to Scout Harding’s knowledge of the Inquisition’s needs.”

Ivor of the Blades briefly looked annoyed by his proclamation and then attempted to assert Harding’s “knowledge” of the terrain and weather was woefully lacking. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the man natter on for a moment then raised his free hand to indicate silence. He’d handle this swiftly and that’d be the end of it. But, before he could begin to lodge his complaint with the man, he heard soft footfalls from behind and to his right which stopped promptly at his side. Leliana.

He supposed he was rather thankful for her sudden appearance although, if he had to guess, he suspected she’d been watching the entire scene play out from somewhere nearby. As Josephine often said: you could take the bard out of Orlais, but you’d never take the bard out of an Orlesian.

“Serrah, while I am sure your knowledge of the local terrain is without parallel, it is the Commander’s wish--and by his, I mean that he, as Her Worship’s designated representative-- for you to work in concert with Scout Harding. She is familiar with Inquisition protocols and, more to the point, what camp requirements will be needed for our 25,000 men, steeds, wagons, supplies, gear, and errata.”

Ivor realizing that he’d, at best, annoyed Cullen, quickly stammered out an apology to both he and Leliana, saluted and insisted he would do his utmost to ensure harmonious relations between Her Worship’s forces and the Blades. Cullen nodded, satisfied. “Good. I assume camp will be prepared before the next storm blows in?”

“Y-you have my word, Commander,” Ivor said. Cullen watched as the man practically fell arse over teakettle in an attempt to hurry to escort, Harding and the Inquisition forces to the bivouac location. Lace Harding stood silent as she watched the man depart, the legions of the Inquisition falling into step behind he and Rylen. From where he was standing, Cullen could see she was smiling--clearly very pleased at the outcome of his conversation with the Blades leader.

Cullen could almost hear Rylen smirking at his side as they watched Ivor awkwardly hurry down the path. “Would ya look at tha’,” he said, “it’s as if the Black Divine was snapping at his heels!”

It took a great deal of restraint to suppress a chuckle but he managed it, coughing into his hand. Once the man in question was out of hearing, Cullen turned his attention to Lace.

“I hope that shall assuage any further issues with Ivor, Harding,” Cullen said. He watched as a a still grinning Harding pivoted toward him and gave him both a formal half bow and salute.

“You have my deepest thanks, Commander, Sister Nightingale,” she said.

The trio waited a beat until Harding had gone before Rylen let out a another incredibly amused chuckle. “I do b’lieve Her Worship once remarked our Senishal favored blades far too often for her tastes.”

Leliana smiled wanly, her eyebrows raising a bit as a look of self-satisfaction settled across her fair features. Cullen even noted there seemed to be a genuine mirthfulness twinkling in her grey-green eyes. “A good bard has many weapons in her arsenal.”

“Indeed!” Rylen agreed. “I daren’t say I’ve e’er seen anyone cut so succinctly with words.”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh when the Nightingale flourished a polite bow.

“It never ceases to amaze me how little men given even a modicum of power will attempt to, how shall we say, increase their perceived worth when a capable woman is involved.”

“That’s one way of phrasing it,” Cullen said. “It matters little now. Hopefully this’ll be the end of it.”

Leliana made a noise of agreement then motioned to a spot halfway between the beach and the bivouac. “That looks like a fine place for your tent, Commander. Would you agree?”

He gave her an arch look for a moment and she smiled cheekily. Rylen shaded his eyes and squinted at the spot. “I’d dare say that’s just out of hearing ra--”

“Maker’s breath!”

Their laughter trailed along behind him as he stomped down the path toward the proffered camping spot. Even annoyed as he was at their japes, he was suddenly struck by a sense of normalcy about it all. Or was it happiness? Whatever it was, he decided, he was glad for it and, surveying the camping spot, decided that this flat, sandy area was quite suitable for a somewhat private place to enjoy a moment of rest. Mnemyn would certainly like it. Close enough to the waves to hear them, far enough from prying ears should they decide to reacquaint themselves with one another in an intimate way. Not that they had to, he reminded himself, though he certainly wouldn't decline were she to indicate she was in the mood for such...sport.

* * *

It remained overcast for the remainder of the day, although the rain had thankfully tapered to a drizzle which afforded the Inquisition forces the ample opportunity to construct a bivouac large enough for their forces and hunker down for the next few days. Rylen, ever the optimist, tried to maintain hope that perhaps their borrowed fleet would arrive before the next inevitable winter storm to come roaring in off the Waking Sea.

Unfortunately, they weren’t so lucky. Late that evening, the winds began to positively howl, bringing freezing, driving rain off the sea. Cullen had been awake when the storm rolled in, having just awoken from a positively hair curling nightmare. As he sat catching his breath, he listened to the pouring rain and found himself thankful for the distraction.

The nightmares which had plagued him since his service in the Ferelden Circle tower were often so unbearable that he’d go days with little to no sleep. Over the years, however, Cullen had adapted, learning to mitigate the nightly onslaught with prayer and the fatigue with copious amounts of tea and willpower.

However, he’d not experienced such terrifyingly vivid dreams since the days directly preceding his magical torture at the hands of the blood mages, abominations, and demons. That these particularly detailed and frightening dreams had once again become so excruciating frequent truly puzzled him. What was worse, however, was the stress and anxieties these nightmares produced had been taking a higher toll on him than usual. Prior to their departure for the coast, he find himself either never able to fully fall asleep or his sleep so fitful he felt completely unrested the following day.

Thankfully, that had changed on the march and Cullen had attributed this refreshing respite to the additional fresh air and additional exercise. Though he was now sleeping soundly, his nightmares had changed dramatically. The last three evenings, he’d experienced visions of being hounded by red lyrium fiends and, sometimes, becoming one. Those, he decided, were the worst.

Tonight he’d had the unfortunate experience of not only seeing himself become a red templar but watching helplessly as he chased Mnemyn until he’d cornered her. Thankfully, he’d woken up before the dream came to its gory and inevitable conclusion. Her pleas and screams still haunted him.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, his thoughts turned to Cole’s most recent request to allow him to help. Letting out a heavy sigh, Cullen flopped back down on his bedroll, scrubbing his hands over his face before dragging his fingers into his hair. He lay there for some minutes, hands on his head, trying to ignore the faint but growing pounding at his temples. He’d had...reservations about letting the spirit carte blanch access to his memories. He was sure Cole meant well but feared that the young man’s lack of human reasoning might be a cause of harm to them both.

It was then the small voice of doubt began taunting him from the recesses of the corner of his mind. What if he’d never be normal? What if he somehow fell to his addiction? Or, worse, his inability to put his past behind him actually drove Mnemyn away?

Like a bolt of lightning, annoyance and determination shot through him. _No_ , Cullen thought as sat up. He flailed for a moment, his right hand scrambling for purchase on the ground beside him as a wave of vertigo almost sent him crashing backwards. After successfully steadying himself, he took a long, slow breath. His heart was racing now and this, unfortunately, did nothing for the now tympany-paced pounding in his temples which was now moving to settle behind his eyes. And worse, he could feel panic crouching, waiting like a cat ready to pounce, at the fringes of his mind.

Stubbornly, he shoved these negative feelings aside. No, he would not give into fear and desperation no matter how poorly he felt.  
He reminded himself that Dagna was studying the samples she’d drawn from both he and Rylen before they left. And, Maker be praised, Dagna never gave up. She’d find some sort of cure. And if that didn’t come to pass, he and Rylan would surely find some other solution together.

The pain ebbed and began to retreat to his temples once again and he dared take a deep breath, this time feeling the anxiety and tension beginning to drain from his neck and shoulders. Another few breaths and he heart slowed to normal pace and he began to focus on the pitter-patter of the rain and, finally, after several minutes, managed to clear his mind. Several minutes passed and, as he collected himself and his thoughts, he was suddenly reminded of another part of his conversation with Cole. _Iron Bull said you didn’t have to suffer alone. And you shouldn’t. It makes the hurt worse; you know it does._

Although he’d disregarded Cole’s concern out loud that night, Cullen knew the spirit had been right. And, if the last few weeks had taught him anything, he was not without friends. Far from it in fact. He knew they would help if he asked. And there was the crux of the matter. The asking.

Cullen huffed out a sigh in frustration. There was no shame in asking for help which Mnemyn had reminded him on more than one occasion. As he turned her words over in his mind, he pursed his lips. After a few more moments of deliberation, Cullen decided that, yes, he’d suffered quite long enough. When Mnemyn arrived and after her companions had had a chance to rest, he’d approach Solas, explain his troubles, and ask him for help. Hopefully the stoic mage would have some idea how to ward off nightmares; he was, afterall, a Somniari. Surely if anyone had a remedy for such a thing, it’d be Solas. And if Solas couldn’t help him, perhaps Dorian could.

He was roused from his thoughts by a slight commotion from the other end of camp. Deciding a more lengthy distraction was most definitely welcome, he pulled on his leather tunic, boots, and a cloak before heading outside to investigate.

As he approached the center of camp, he was informed by one of Leliana’s agents that the Inquisitor and her ragtag team of companions were in the process of arriving. He thanked the young woman and went to help welcome them. Halfway there, he was joined by Rylen and Dorian and they, with the help of the camp staff, worked quickly to get everyone settled and sorted. With amazing efficiency, the trio had everyone fed and packed off to bed within the hour.

Only the Inquisitor, Rylen, Dorian, and Cassandra remained behind, as they, too, had pitched in to make sure everyone was settled and sleeping comfortably. The quartet chatted quietly, mostly about mundane things like the state of the weather and deciding who’d remind the staff there was need for an extra large breakfast due to their new arrivals.

With surprisingly little fanfare, Dorian bid them goodnight and meandered off to turn in for the night. Soon after, Cassandra said her goodbyes before also retreating to the women's tent. Rylen stuck around for a few moments, issuing final orders to the camp staff before bidding he and Mnemyn both a cheerful good evening. As he did so, he’d given Cullen a playful wink and a clap on the shoulder as he trundled off to his bedroll, humming a merry tune along the way.

“Maker,” Mnemyn said, “I can’t recall the last time they all went to bed without a fuss.”

Cullen chuckled and steered her toward their tent at a somewhat leisurely pace. “I imagine their exhaustion has much to do with the ease of their retirement this morning.”

Mnemyn sighed tiredly as he pulled her gently to his side and, after a few paces, she wrapped an arm around him as they strolled along in a companionable silence. After a half dozen paces, she admitted, rather sheepishly, she’d pushed them a bit hard the last few days. “I feel positively dreadful...”

“I’m sure they’ll forgive you,” he said. “Eventually.”

Mnemyn laughed. “I’ll have you know, Varric can hold quite a grudge when he wants to. But yes, I’m sure they shall. They’ll have ample time to rest whilst we wait for the ships to arrive.”

“And rest you shall,” he said. Pausing just outside the tent flaps he turned and took her gently by the shoulders and looked down at her with a tender smile. The firelight was quite dim here and, in the absence of the moon, he could just make out her features in the gloom. “I’ve instructed the staff not to wake us until very late morning.”

“Maker!” she said, “More than six hours sleep? How luxurious!”

Chuckling, he pushed back the tent flaps to allow her entry. “I wouldn’t get used to it.”

She smirked and ducked under his arm, “Remind me again who’s in charge of this rabble?”

A full fledged laugh escaped his lips this time as he, too, ducked under the tent flap and followed her into the tent. She’d paused, mid-tent, and was working at the wet knot of the kerchief she wore about her neck. “Last I checked, that would be you, Inquisitor!”

“Oh-ho-ho!” She laughed, tossing her wet kerchief at him. “Deftly played, Commander.”

He caught the wet garment neatly in his right hand before quickly twirling it into a twist and snapping it in the direction of her bottom. He chuckled as she made the most adorable squeak as she tried and failed to avoid it. Mnemyn, although grateful for their momentary playfulness, didn’t seem too keen on continuing their horseplay and, thus, scooted out of his reach. Instead, she began busying herself with shedding bits of armor while giving him a slightly sultry look and Cullen found it was all he could do to keep himself from staring at her. They had been separated for quite a length of time after all.

“I know that look,” she said. Her voice was barely a murmur now. And, despite her intention of sounding alluring, he could sense a definite undercurrent of exhaustion. Realizing now wasn’t the most opportune time for such intimacy, he felt a pang of regret at his inappropriateness and, instead, leaned in briefly to place a tender kiss on her cheek before helping her struggle out of her sodden armor and coat. She sighed heavily, both in relief to be free of the heavy, wet armor but also in disappointment that she was just far too tired for anything other than sleeping.

As she continued to divest herself of her gear, he turned to neatly stacking the sopping muddy mess by the tent flaps while she dressed. Someone from the camp staff would be along to fetch her gear for repairs later that morning and he hoped if it were easily accessible, they could do so without disturbing her.

When he finished, he turned to see her sitting on their bedroll wearing a dry woolen tunic - the one he’d given her on their trek to Skyhold in fact - toweling her hair in an attempt to dry it. He gave her a sympathetic smile as he shucked his boots and outerwear. He heard her sigh happily and looked up to see her watching him appreciatively. This, of course, made him blush and he did his best to hide it as he crawled over to her.

“I’ll be glad when we’ve sailed through this mess day after tomorrow,” she said.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one.”

“Yes, although I’m positively shocked we can’t hear Varric swearing from here…,” she said. As she began to laugh softly, he pulled her closer and tossed the blankets over them both. Mnemyn pillowed her head on his shoulder and they settled into one another’s arms each sighing contentedly.

Cullen smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Forgive me but, knowing his penchant for complaining loudly and often about the rain, I took the liberty of ensuring he’d be lodged as far away from our tent as humanly possible.”

Mnemyn shook her head before covering a yawn with the back of her hand. “My commander. Always prepared…”

Cullen chuckled softly and gently arranged the blankets and furs as the warm, albeit still slightly rain soaked, woman in his arms began to drift off to sleep. As he thanked the Maker for this brief yet incredibly tender moment, he felt his eyes grow heavy and soon, the world around them faded to black.


End file.
